


A Work In Progress

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV First Person, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-04 04:26:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 53,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10268219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: While Ethan's adamant that he wants Will on the team, Will's equally adamant that he has reasons for remaining in D.C.~ Six Chapters  - Fic complete as at 16 April 2017 ~





	1. ~ One ~

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Narrated by Ethan, self-beta'd
> 
> ~ The title, while apt, is also a somewhat facetious comment on how this is an example of how very much NOT to write a story. Seriously. A) It's years old. B) It actually took me three years to write as I kept giving up on it. C) Believe it or not, this – going on the page numbers on my computer – is how it was written. I started at what is now page 16, and dropped it at page 26. I then started again at page 60, and wrote to the end. A year or so later I returned to it and filled in the gap between pages 26 and 60. I then, finally believing that the end was nigh, wrote the first 16 pages... ! 
> 
> ~ This is so old that the throwaway reference to The Syndicate was made before Rogue Nation even hit the screen.
> 
> ~ Ever-so-slight AU in that it works on the premise of the last scene, the one on the pier, in Ghost Protocol never having taken place.
> 
> ~ Continuing the 'WIP' theme, I'm yet to work out for certain how I want to break it up in terms of posting – so it may take me a while, especially as I'm beta'ing as I go. 
> 
> ~ As I'm still, even after all these years, on the fence about this fic, please approach it with caution?
> 
> ~ I think there should be a tag for 'I suck at tags as much as I suck at writing summaries'
> 
> ~ Enjoy? (… She types hopefully.)

===============  
A Work In Progress  
by TalithaX  
===============

 

I'm a confident person. The life of a spy having a lot in common with that of a professional conman, the ability to both believe in yourself and whatever it is you're trying to get across at the time is as much second nature as it is paramount to your success. The success you've had pictured in your mind ever since you first decided on your goal and which, hey, as failure is never an option, you've pretty much got pencilled in as a done deal. Some might call it arrogant – if not puffed-up-with-your-own-sense-of-over-inflated-importance – but, in the line of work I've chosen for myself, it's just how it has to be. 

I have to believe in myself.

I have to be able to, regardless of either the circumstances or my own personal views, convince my audience that, why, yes, they do actually want the same thing that I want.

Like my grandfather used to say before the world came over all politically correct, if the situation calls for it, you have to be able to sell ice to an Eskimo.

Believe in it.

Work it.

Sell it.

It's something I just happen to be exceptionally good at.

Make that...

… Something I'm... usually... exceptionally good at.

Having spent a very long and very boring eight weeks doing close to fuck all while my knee healed, I've had a lot of time to think things through and I know that my call is the right one. In fact, to my way of thinking, it's nothing short of... if not genius then at the very least perfection. There's no negatives that I've been able to come up with, all the boxes – skills, personality, usefulness, fit-in-ability, bonus points for certainly being easy on the eye – have ticks next to them, and, basically, it just makes sense.

Only...

I believe in it wholeheartedly.

And I'm working on it, I really am.

But...

… Just call me psychic, but I don't think I'm doing my usual exceptional job of selling it.

“What do you mean, thank you, but I can't accept?” I query in a tone that actually sounds far more plaintive than I'd wanted it to as I place my coffee cup down on the table and peer across at – my chosen one or, alternatively and depending on how you see things, prey – William Brandt. “As I've already mentioned, I read your file while my stupid knee had me stuck on my ass, and you're an agent.”

“I'm as much an analyst now as I was a field agent,” Will replies calmly, his already familiar face schooled into an expressionless mask, “and as honoured as I am by your offer, I have to say no.”

“Skills like yours are wasted behind a desk,” I mutter as, things very much not having turned out how I'd envisioned them, I can feel myself being reduced to acting like a spoilt child who hasn't gotten his way. Will, and there really are no two ways about it, was meant to both react enthusiastically and embrace my offer to join the team with open arms. The mission to take down Cobalt wouldn't have succeeded without him, Jane Carter and Benji Dunn – who, I'm pleased to say, couldn't say yes quick enough when I asked them to be a part of the new team I was forming – like him, I like, penchant for keeping his cards close to chest notwithstanding, him, what I've seen of his skills really does put him in a league of his own, and, Goddamn it, having made my mind up, I just wanted to work with him. End of story.

“There's plenty of available agents with the same skills that I have,” Will responds in the same neutral tone he's been using ever since I raised the issue of wanting him on my team. The neutral tone that, really, should have told me in no uncertain terms to just quit while I was ahead. He'd seemed pleased enough to see me when I sat down uninvited in the chair opposite his in the cafeteria where he was eating his lunch. He'd even smiled, and for a second or two I really did feel as though he was as genuinely pleased to see me again as I was him. Then, once the small talk about my knee and Jane's recovery was out of the way, I hit him with the real reason I was interrupting his lunch break, and...

Yeah.

Let's just say he really, really didn't react as I'd been expecting him to.

“I don't want another agent,” I declare as, really hammering home my increasingly petulant mood, I fold my arms across my chest. “I want you. Oh, and while I'm at it, Benji and Jane, they want you as well. Like I just said, you're wasted behind a desk and should be out in the field where you belong.”

“Out in the field where I belong?” Will murmurs with what looks to be the slightest hint of amusement appearing momentarily on his face. “What am I, some sort of farm animal?”

“Well, you're definitely pig headed,” I retort with a quick smile of my own. “Having worked together once, you know that as a team we work well together, and I think...”

“You're right,” he interrupts, dropping his gaze down to the coffee cup cradled between his hands. “We did work well together and, if you must know, jumping, rivers and ridiculously tall buildings aside, I enjoyed myself. I liked working with the three you and I honestly do believe that you've made the right decision in wanting to work with Jane and Benji again, but...”

“Uh! No buts. I get that you're the sort who needs to think things through before deciding to do something, but this... This doesn't need thinking about. You're a great agent, Will, and I think... No. I... know... that you'd make the perfect fourth member of the team.”

“I...” Pushing his chair back with a heavy sigh, Will stands up and looks down at me with a sad, resigned expression on his face. “I can't,” he states quietly. “Ethan, I... I know you're disappointed in me and I'm sorry for that, I really am, but I can't accept your offer because I need to stay in D.C.. The trip to Russia with the Secretary was an anomaly that I never should have agreed to, and... My responsibilities, they're here in D.C. and I can't, I just can't abandon them. So... Thank you for the offer, and I'm not going to stand here and say that I'm not tempted by it, as I am, but I just can't accept it and... and that's the end of it.”

~*~

Dropping the headphones onto the table, I lean back in my seat and, with a yawn, stretch out the close to atrophied muscles in both my arms and legs. While surveillance, especially old school – camped out with cameras and sound equipment in a hovel of an apartment opposite the far nicer apartment that the target's in – surveillance is never going to make it on to a top one hundred list of things I like to do with my time, having to just sit around while the bastard's getting his rocks off makes it even worse.

Voyeurism never really having done it for me, I just don't want to so much as know about, let alone be intimately acquainted with, the sexual proclivities of others. Seriously. I'm just not interested. Sure, when I was a – newbie – young agent and first encountered a target getting up to something sexual, there was that vague, almost knee-jerk sense of titillation and brief amusement. Oh my God, I'm being paid to watch some guy fuck, and all of that, but it was short lived. People fuck. Whoop-de-doo. People are also prone to getting up to all sorts of weird shit that, to be blunt, you were just better off not knowing about. But, again, whoop-de-doo. Having to watch it, even if it is only through the live feed coming through on your computer screen, is more cause for discomfort than it is arousal and I could quite happily live out the rest of my life without ever having to encounter one, two, or, as the case frequently is, more strangers getting it on in front of me again. Some agents still get a vicarious thrill from it, and some times what you've had the misfortune to witness really is so... unique... that it becomes perfect anecdote material to pull out after a few beers, but...

Always having been of the opinion that I'd rather be personally involved in the action than simply watching it, and, yes, this extends to pornography as well, it's just not for me.

Especially not, as, of course, is the case of our current target, when one of the naked bodies on my screen just happens to be the size of a small house and, on the off chance that wasn't bad enough, possesses the sort of back hair that wouldn't look out of place on a gorilla. 

To be honest, Cameron Frankham, today's lead in the skin flick happening across the street and current thorn in IMF's side, didn't particularly do anything for me clothed either. Naked, though... Words, they fail me. They really do.

And...

You know something? I couldn’t bring myself to swap placed with the woman he's inflicting himself on for all the money in the world.

I can, and have done so on more occassions than I care to remember, do a lot of things that I mightn’t particularly have wanted to, but I couldn't... do... Frankham.

Just...

No.

And the sooner the fat bastard shoots his load the better as, right now, I'm not even entirely sure I'm being paid enough to just keep half an eye on it.

The sound of the door opening behind me saving me from having to see just what exactly Frankham was planning to do with the feather duster, I lower the laptop's screen and glance over my shoulder as Benji walks into the room. Looking both red in the face and disgruntled, he shuts the door and, almost as though he's wanting to stop someone from following him, leans his back against it.

“Shouldn't you be watching that?” he queries, gesturing at the computer.

“Not tonight, dear, I've got a headache,” I reply facetiously as, delighted to have a reprieve from the sight of Frankham's offensively hairy flesh, I swivel around in my seat and give Benji my undivided attention.

“Huh?” His expression changing to one of confusion, Benji pushes away from the door and walks over to join me by the table full of surveillance equipment we have set up in front of the window. “If you're not feeling well, shouldn't...”

“I was being a smart ass,” I interject, lifting the screen a little bit further up so that he can see for himself what I was referring to. “See? Frankham's... uh... getting his fat, wobbly, not to mention hairy, groove on, and, wanting to keep my lunch in my stomach where it belongs, I can't watch it.”

“I can see what you mean about being hairy,” he mutters, pulling a face as he reaches out his hand and quickly lowers the screen back down again. “That... That's just wrong.”

“That's certainly one way of putting it,” I agree, pulling a face of my own as, suddenly curious as to just what it is Benji's doing here, I look up at him inquiringly. “Benji... Can... I... help you?”

“You could help me by swapping places with Miller,” he retorts with a scowl. “In fact, as having to watch what's going on in Frankham's apartment is probably what the officious prick deserves, I couldn't think of a nicer thing to happen to him! Actually... No. What would be even more perfect would be if he had to swap places with that woman!”

Ah... Silly me. I should have known the reason behind Benji's random visit without even having to ask.

Richard Miller.

Mid thirties, face that even his mother probably struggled to love, whiny, nasally voice that I swear, given how much he uses it, that he loves the sound of, the sort of ego that – puts my own to shame – you couldn't dint with an axe, a never-ending pain in everyone's ass, and...

Ours.

All ours.

Too demoralised by Will's refusal to join the team, I made the incredibly fucking stupid mistake of – sulking – just telling the Secretary to choose someone for me as I wanted to be the first team in line for whatever the next mission was to come up, and, possibly because he either doesn't like me very much or is just a sadist, he saw fit to give me Richard Miller.

Who, as Benji just called him, is an officious prick of almost unbelievable magnitude. 

I know that I only have to work with him and that there's nothing written in stone anywhere that says I have to like him. I also know that once this mission is over I'm going to both calmly and politely tell the Secretary that I'd rather shove red hot pokers repeatedly in my eyes than I would having to work with him again, but this doesn't help the fact that we're stuck with him now. Stuck with hearing his opinions, which, for what it's worth, are usually wrong, stuck with him getting increasingly irate with Jane for not falling for his... charms... like he clearly thinks she should, and stuck with Benji, easy-going Benji, looking as though he'd like nothing more than to kill him with his bare hands.

It...

It's great. It really is.

Thanks to the mission having so far been all about the surveillance, we're all stuck together in this crappy little apartment and I just don't know how much more I can take of Miller pushing everyone's buttons before I just snap and push him out a window myself. 

I wanted Will, who the three of us like and get on well with, yet I got Miller. Who everyone despises and wants to kill.

Needless to say this just doesn't strike me as being fair at all and, never having been one to back down without a fight, once this mission – with Miller and his obnoxious attitude, and Frankham with his hairy back – is out of the way I'm going to hunt Will down and have another go at blowing him away with my powers of persuasion.

Assuming, that is, I survive the coming days and actually make it back to D.C..

“Do I even want to know what he's done this time?” I murmur, giving Benji a sympathetic look as I close my hand around his wrist and give it a quick squeeze.

“He picked on what I was wearing!” Benji exclaims, shooting another scowl towards the door as he gestures at the front of his T-shirt and the well worn decal of R2-D2 and C-3PO from Star Wars that adorns it. “Said I was too old for shit like this and that I should act my age, and... And... Just how dare he!”

~*~

Finishing my tale of woe about Miller, which sadly didn't even call for embellishing as the truth was simply bad enough, I plaster a pained... yet at the same time slightly hopeful... expression on my face and just wait for Will to do the right thing by immediately declaring that he's changed his mind and would love nothing more than to join me, Benji, and Jane in the field.

Believe it, work it, sell it. Remember?

“And to think I'd been afraid that you probably weren't ever going to speak to me again,” Will comments, his expression, as I'm slowly beginning to take for granted, giving nothing away as, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, he squints up at me. “Clearly, however, as you haven't let me get a word in since you arrived...”

“Uh... Sorry,” I interject as, shrugging, I flash him an innocent smile and sink down on to the park bench next to him. “When I spotted you just sitting all alone on the bench, I...”

“Had an epiphany about having found your perfect audience of one to get your many, many issues about Richard Miller off your chest to?” Will offers as, screwing it up into a ball, he lobs his empty take-away coffee cup into the bin by the end of the bench. “Just... If that's the case, I'm pleased to have been able to fulfil such an important role for you.”

“Oh. You have no idea.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Again, you have no idea. And... If you didn't get it after the rant I just hit you with, nor are you... ever... going to get it.”

“Trust me. I got it,” Will responds as a brief smile both lights up his face and takes years off him. “If I know what's good for me I'm to avoid Richard Miller at all costs.”

“See him, and run screaming for the hills, more like,” I mutter as, his smile being nothing if not contagious, I give him one of my own in return. “Look, I'm sorry for having... uh... unleashed all my frustrations on you, but...” Trailing off, I give him a cunning look. “Well, as it's actually your fault that we got stuck with the idiot, I thought it was only fair that you knew, in detail, of course, about our suffering.”

“My fault? Oh...” His smile fading, Will turns away from me and stares down at his knees. “Sorry,” he whispers. “Ethan, I...”

“Tell me you've changed your mind and you're instantly forgiven,” I interrupt, increasing the wattage of my smile even though he's not looking at me. “Seriously, Will, as Miller's already in the process of being shifted on to some other unfortunate team, there's an empty spot in the team that still has your name on it.”

“As I told you last time, I can't leave D.C.,” Will murmurs, lifting his head not to look at me but to gaze, seemingly at nothing, directly in front of him. “I need to stay here for... uh... personal reasons and, because of this, am not in a position to put my hand up for field work. Ethan, I... I'm sorry, I really am, but you've got to move on from this idea of yours of wanting me on your team as I simply can't do it.”

“But...”

“Please... I have my reasons, and I... I just can't do it.”

“Will...” Saved, I suspect, from further ruining Will's day by the timely arrival of Benji, I hide my annoyance at not having got my way behind both an airy grin and a small shrug. “Benji!” I exclaim as, beaming, he hurries over to join us. “Look who I've found.”

“Will!” All but ignoring me in his haste to get to Will, Benji comes to a stop directly in front of him and, with no form of preamble whatsoever, points at the – R2-D2 and C-3PO – decal on the front of his T-shirt. “I've just to ask, what do you think of my t-shirt?”

“What do I think of your...” Trailing off, Will sits up a little straighter and, after shooting me a bemused look, shrugs. “It... It's very... you.”

“You don't think I shouldn't be wearing it, then?” Benji queries, striking what I think may well be his interpretation of a pose as he gazes hopefully at Will. “That... I'm not too old for it?”

“Why would I think you were too old for it?” Will replies with another shrug. “You're the one wearing it, not me, so what's it got to do with me anyway? It's your t-shirt, Benji, and for what little it's worth I think it suits you, so... Does that answer your question?”

“See? Will gets it,” Benji declares as, glancing at me, he rolls his eyes and grins. “Please tell me that we can keep him...”

~*~

“I see you've been harassing that desk-jockey again,” Luther announces as, dumping his lunch tray unceremoniously down on the table, he lowers himself into the seat only just vacated by Will. “Now, what have I told you before about leaving the pencil-pusher alone, huh?”

“And hello to you, too,” I mutter, giving Luther a sour look as, for no other reason than I know it'll annoy him, I grab a couple of fries from off his plate and pop them into my mouth. “Oh, and if you must know,” I add, deliberately talking with my mouth full because I know that annoys him almost as much as someone stealing his food does, “I wasn't, as you called it, harassing him at all. In fact, we were just having lunch together.”

“Having lunch, or... having spotted your prey, you simply zoomed in for the kill and planted your ass, uninvited, I might add, at his table?” he replies, giving me the evil eye as he makes a point of placing his plate as far out of my reach as he can. “I mean, no offence or anything, man, but from what I saw he sure seemed to be in a hurry to get away from you.”

I shrug and, leaning back in my seat, stretch my legs out under the table. “He got a message on his phone, and whatever it said caused him to get up and leave in a hurry. Until then, and, seriously, I don't know what any of this has to do with you anyway, we'd just been having lunch together and chatting.”

“So what you're telling me then is that his sudden departure had nothing to do with you,” Luther responds, peering down at his plate as, picking up his knife and fork, he contemplates where to start.

“Me? Why would it have anything to do with me?” I demand in a querulous tone as I can feel the good mood I'd been in while Will was sitting opposite me start to dissolve. Contrary to Luther's take on things – and, okay, fine, given that Will really did rush off after receiving the message I can see why he might have thought things had ended badly between us – we really had just been having lunch together and...

… It had been good.

Really good, even.

Having, even though it had taken being knocked back on four seperate occassions, finally gotten my head around the fact that pestering Will about joining the team wasn't ever going to get me anywhere, when I saw him in the cafeteria today I...

… Was just pleased to see him. That's all.

In fact, I was actually surprised at how pleased I was to see him, and when he looked up with a tentative smile on his face at the sound of my voice when I asked if he'd mind having some company for lunch, the sense of unexpected pleasure simply increased. Things having ended – as in, with Will just walking off after all but pleading with me to accept his inability to join the team – the same way as the three previous times had the last time we'd met, I'd been a little worried that, enough being enough, he might have just told me to fuck off and leave him the hell alone. But, no. He seemed, not that it's ever particularly easy to get a true read on Will's mood given the neutral expression he appears to have perfected, happy enough to see me and, after I promised to leave the issue of him returning to field work off the table, he even relaxed to the point of fully engaging in a conversation with me. Granted, what we talked about was solely work related – mission talk, how Benji and Jane were going, and how we were still searching for the right fourth member – and never really strayed on to anything of a personal nature, but it was still good. I liked talking to Will and, despite my wish to get him on the team not having changed, it was nice to be able to just chat to him without reverting to hectoring mode and putting him on the spot.

“I just thought he might have been sick of you trying to get your way over him,” Luther replies, giving me an odd look as, having finally made his decision, he spears a number of fries with his fork and brings them up to his mouth. “What? You can look at me like that all you want, but don't forget who it is who's had to listen to you whine after every failure you've had with your... pet project.”

“He's not my pet project,” I mutter, “and, at the risk of repeating myself here, we'd just been having lunch. Oh, and... No. Before you ask, I didn't even mention wanting him to return to field work once. Did you hear that? Not once.”

Shrugging, Luther washes his fries down with a mouthful of soda before replying. “So, back to my original statement... Perhaps it's just you, then.”

“Me?”

“He sure did look to be in a hurry to be on his way.”

“I told you. He received a text message that caused him to leave. It wasn't, contrary to your opinion on the matter, because of me.”

“No?”

“No!”

“If you say...”

“I damn well do say so! We'd been having a perfectly fine lunch together and I suspect, if it hadn't been for the message, he'd still be here and I wouldn't be having to put up with this bullshit from you!”

“Gee. Defensive, much?”

“Bite me.”

“Charming, too. Hell. Forgive me. I take it all back. Of course he'd be smitten with you.”

“Damn straight.” Our banter finally getting the better of me, I lean forward and, catching Luther's gaze, start to laugh. “Everyone fucking loves me.”

“Everyone?” he retorts, giving me an amused look. “You sure about that?”

“Uh... Fairly sure.”

“Now you're... fairly sure?”

“Uh... Most people?”

“You just keep telling yourself that, Hunt. I mean, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Well... Surely... you... love me.”

“Try... tolerate, and you'd be getting warmer.”

“With friends like you, huh,” I mutters, grabbing a napkin from his tray and waving it at him. “Fine. I surrender. I'm a horrible person and Will probably couldn't get away from me quick enough.”

Luther arches an inquiring brow as, his lunch forgotten, he gives me his full attention. “Will, huh...”

“That's his name,” I reply cautiously as I sense the mood between us shifting from... light hearted to... serious. “William Brandt, but he prefers to go by Will.”

“And... You're wanting him on your team, yeah?” Luther queries.

I nod. “We, that is, Will, Benji, Jane and I, worked well together to take down Cobalt, and not only do I know him to have exceptional skills, but he's also a good fit personality wise with the three of us. So... Yeah. I think he's wasted as an analyst and want him on the team.”

“Still?”

“What do you mean... still?”

“Five months have passed since Cobalt bit it in Mumbai, and you're still fixated on this Brandt character? I don't know, but surely you should have moved on by now.”

“I'm not fixated on him at all.”

“No?”

“No!”

“Then why, five months on, are you still hovering around him every time you're in D.C. when he's already said no?”

“Because...” Sighing, I lean back in my chair and run my fingers through my hair. “Not having gelled with any of the other agents the Secretary's inflicted on us to make up the fourth spot in the team, I... that is, all three of us, would still like Will to change his mind and join us. He's a good agent, and that, for all the reading between the lines you seem to be doing here, is all there is to it.”

“Uh-huh. That's all there is to it,” Luther echoes as a knowing, possibly even smug smirk begins to tug on the corners of his lips. “You just want to... work... with him.”

“Of course I just want to work with him,” I reply with a half-hearted shrug as, having known Luther for years now, I just know he hasn't finished with me. “Just... Move on already, yeah? I don't know what you think you're getting at here, but...”

“You want to fuck him,” Luther interrupts, his smirk broadening in to the very definition of 'shit-eating' as he calmly delivers his little bombshell. “And don't sit there and try to tell me that you don't. Sure. Fine. Whatever. He's a good agent who slots in nicely with the team, and... blah, blah, blah. There's more to it though and, even if right now it's news to you, you now know that I'm right. You're under his spell.”

“What? Bullshit! I don't know what you're talking about,” I protest, even though, deep down – moment of clarity time, anyone? – I realise that he's actually right. It might have started off all innocently enough in that my reasons for wanting Will on the team really were all work related, but now...

Luther, damn him, is right. Will fascinates me. As much as I still want to work with him, I think I might actually want to know... him... more. Why is he so adamant that he has to stay in D.C.? Why, when I should just be pissed off with him for his stubborn refusal to give in to me, was I so pleased to see him today? 

Why was Luther able to pick up on this before I did?

“You don't know what I'm talking about, huh?” he mutters, his expression still very much of the proverbial cat who'd just got the canary as he continues to gaze over at me.

“No... I don't.”

“Uh-huh. Okay. Your... Will... do you find him good looking?”

“Of course he's good looking,” I reply, no doubt to Luther's thinking just a little too quickly as, okay, my answer wasn't even one that I had to think about first. “But... So what? Just because I've paid enough attention to him to know that he's good looking doesn't mean anything. Hell. You'd probably say he was good looking too, so...”

“Me?” Luther shakes his head and laughs. “Get real. Given that we share the same dominant chromosome, to me he's just another short white dude. In fact, on that, you're lucky I can even differentiate between the pair of you.”

“Lucky, huh?” 

“You'd be lost without me.”

“Lost? I don't know about...”

“Stop kidding yourself, Hunt,” Luther interjects with another laugh. “Without me kindly hitting you with a few facts of life that, for some reason, had escaped you, you'd still be sitting there thinking all you wanted from the desk-jockey was to... work... with him.”

~*~

“Please don't tell me you've forgotten where you left your car.”

An instant smile stretching across my lips at the sound of the familiar voice coming from behind me, I turn around and find Will gazing at me with a look of what may well be mild consternation on his face as he tries to work out just why it is I'm standing aimlessly by the elevator in the underground parking garage. 

“It's not... Uh...” Quickly hiding my shock at the unexpected sight of a nasty looking bruise around Will's left eye behind an even brighter smile, I shrug and, even though it's just about the last thing I suddenly feel like doing, give a small laugh. “It's my driver I'm standing here looking around for, not my car,” I reply. “In fact, as my car's in the shop for a service, I actually know where it is. It's Luther, however, that I'm struggling to find.”

“Luther?” Will echoes as he shifts around me so that, in an attempt to hide his black eye, he's standing to my left. “His team just got called to the conference room for a debriefing as they caught a mission.”

“Oh.” Sighing, I flash Will a rueful smile and pull my phone out of my pocket. “So much for him driving me home, then,” I respond. “I should have known something would come up when he was so adamant that he'd be fine to do it, but... Oh well... Looks like it'll be a cab after all.”

“I...” Frowning, Will pushes the sleeve of his suit jacket back and glances down at his watch. “I can give you a lift, if you'd like,” he offers hesitantly. “Just... You don't live too far away, do you? I... I mean, I'm happy to give you a lift, but... uh... I need to get home myself and...”

“Assuming the traffic plays nice, it usually takes me around twenty minutes to get from here to home,” I reply, as touched by Will's offer of a lift as I am concerned by not only his black eye but also how tired he looks. “But, hey, it's okay. While I appreciate the offer, if you've got somewhere you need to be, then...”

“Twenty minutes, yeah?” he interrupts, digging his keys out of his pocket as he begins to walk off. “As that should be fine, I take it you're good to go?”

“I'm good to go,” I confirm, quickly typing a text message – 'You're off the hook. Stay safe, and I'll see you when you get back' – to Luther before returning my phone to my pocket and following Will through the rows of parked cars. “Are you sure about this, though? I'm fine with getting a cab if...”

“I'm sure. So long as we get moving now, it'll be fine,” Will replies, once again cutting me off as he gestures towards a black Audi sedan. “Actually, Ethan...” Pausing, he uses the remote to unlock his car and, coming to a stop by the driver's side door, smiles at me. “As I missed seeing you when you were last in town, it's good to see you again.”

“It's good to see you, too,” I reply, going down the bland, yet truthful route in preference to putting my foot in it by demanding to know how he got the black eye. He's injured, seems exhausted, and although I know I have a snowflake's chance in hell of him telling me, I'd give just about anything to know why. Not just to put my curiosity to rest either, but because I realise now that I do genuinely care about him. Thanks to our schedules having conspired against us when I was back in D.C. last month, this is the first time I've seen Will in over six weeks and I can hardly believe how incredibly good it is to finally see him again. So good that, despite having tried my best not to think about it in any detail, I know more than ever that what Luther said to me that day in the cafeteria is right. He... does... get under my skin, and I... do... want to get to know him in ways that have nothing to do with IMF. “I'd... uh... love to say you look well, but...”

“You'd be lying through your teeth,” he finishes flatly as, his expression clearly telling me that this is where this particular topic ends, he opens the door and gets into the car.

Biting back a sigh, I climb into the Audi and follow Will's lead by pulling my seat belt on. “Will...”

“Don't. Please,” he murmurs, shooting me a quick warning look as, starting the car, he puts it into gear and slowly drives out of the parking space. “Things... They're a bit rough at the moment, but I... I'm okay, and, no, I don't want to talk about it.”

“Oddly enough, I knew you were going to say that,” I reply in as light a tone as I can manage as, throwing caution to the winds, I reach over and place my hand lightly on his shoulder, “but, Will... I'm not going to ask, okay, but, please... Please know that if you do ever want to talk that I'm here for you, that... even more than I want to work with you, I... I want to be your friend.”

“I...” Bringing the car to stop at the top of the ramp out of the garage, Will takes his hand off the steering wheel and, to my surprise, places it briefly over mine. “Thank you,” he states simply. “I know I mightn't be able to show it, but I... I'd really like that.”

~*~

Shoving the file away from me with such force that it very nearly slides off the other end of the table, I lean back in my chair, take a mouthful of what is now very – horrible – cold coffee and, in general, just feel sorry for myself.

Cold coffee. Beyond boring task.

And...

Yeah, yeah. Woe is me and all that.

The sound of the door opening behind me somehow managing to penetrate through the fog of boredom in my head, I seize, almost gleefully, on the idea of my visitor being able to offer me some much needed entertaining and, with a smile already plastered all over my face, spin around to greet them.

“Thank God you're here,” I state as, looking nothing if not bemused at my far too enthusiastic greeting, Jane walks into the room and makes her way over to the desk I'm sitting at. “Just... Seriously... Save me.”

“Save you?” she replies, glancing down at the files spread all over the desk. “Knowing better than to make promises I may not want to keep, what are you doing, anyway?”

“Other than suffering, you mean?” I retort, picking up a file at random and waving it at her before, with an award winning sigh, dropping it heavily on to the desk. “I don't know what wrong turn I made to end up here, or just who it was I might have wronged in a former life, but... Kill me. Kill me now.”

“Creative as that lament was, it didn't exactly answer my question,” Jane responds as she drapes herself over my shoulders and snatches up the closest file. “Oh,” she adds in a disappointed sounding tone as, straightening herself back up, she flicks the file open. “It's a personnel file.”

“It's one of... many... personnel files,” I correct glumly. “Look! They're everywhere. And, because my life sucks, I have to go through each and every one of them.”

“Do I want to ask... why?” Jane murmurs as, finding nothing to interest her in the file, she hands it back to me and walks around the desk to take a seat opposite me. “I mean, you've got a... lot... of files in front of you.”

“Tell me about it.” Groaning, I throw the file down on top of a pile containing at least seven others and roll my eyes. “The Secretary having had enough of having his carefully chosen agents returned to him after only one mission, he's decided that the time has come for me to pick the fourth member of the team myself. He... Well... Let's just say he was most adamant in this point and leave it at that.”

“What's he got to be so narky about anyway?” Jane mutters, wrinkling her nose as she no doubt recalls her own issues with the agents we've had pass through the team over the past seven months. “It's not as though he's had to work with them.”

“Believe it or not, I tried telling him that.”

“Didn't buy it?”

“More like... Wasn't interested in hearing it.”

“Oh. But... All these sub par agents he's inflicted on us, you're not truly sitting there telling me that he's... put actual effort into choosing them, are you?”

“Apparently so.”

“Wow.”

“Mmm... It was news to me, too.”

“But...”

“Just... Don't go there because, sadly, I have no better answers for you.”

“So... Now it's up to you to choose, yeah?”

I nod. “Unfortunately, yeah.”

“But...” Leaning forward, Jane wafts her hand over a number of the files. “Maybe that'll be a good thing. I mean, you at least would have some sort of idea as to who'd be the best fit.”

“You'd think, wouldn't you,” I mutter as, being in nothing if not a masochistic sort of mood, I pick my cup up and force down another mouthful of cold coffee. “This lot, though? Again, don't go there. If I've never heard of them, then there's something in their file that doesn't quite sit right with me. And... If I've heard of them, then... I know already that I'm not exactly in a hurry to place myself, or you or Benji for that matter, in a situation where they might be all that stands between us and guaranteed death.”

“So... Close your eyes and just pick one?” she suggests with a shrug. “Hey... It's not like we're not already used to having to deal with idiots.”

“Don't laugh, but it might actually have to come to that,” I reply, pulling a face as I gesture at all of the files spread out across the desk. “I'm telling you, oh, and feel free to go through them yourself if you've got nothing better to do for the next six hours, but not one of them ticks enough boxes to make me want them out in the field with us.”

“That good, huh?”

“Trust me. If this lot are the best the Secretary was able to come up with, IMF is doomed.”

“Now... There's a cheery thought.”

“Again, tell me about it.”

“What about...”

“Don't bother,” I interrupt with a quick shake of my head as, this point in our conversation having been inevitable, I just know what it is she's going to ask. “I'm sure he hasn't changed his mind.”

“When was the last time that you asked him?” Jane replies. “Whenever it was, surely there'd be no harm in trying again. It's not as though he can't change his mind or...”

“I stopped asking months ago,” I confess, cutting Jane off as I both catch her gaze and give a small – 'and that's all there is to it' – shrug. “Will, he... Basically, it's like this. He was always so adamant that he's needed here in D.C. that I just stopped asking him a couple of months ago. It... I don't know, but being asked seemed to... unsettle... him, so I reluctantly reached the decision to just give up.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumping with obvious disappointment at my response, Jane gives me a look of open curiosity and murmurs, “Needed in D.C.? No one ever having said anything about him being either married or having a family, I don't suppose you happen to know... why... it is he has to stay in town?”

I shake my head again and, just for good measure, sigh. “No idea. All he's ever said is that he has... responsibilities... here and that he can't abandon them. Believe me, I must have asked him something like six times to join the team, and his answer has always been the same.”

“I know that it's not really kosher, but, you know, just for reasons of curiosity and all that, have you ever done a thorough background check on him?”

“As in...”

“The whole kit and caboodle. Bank accounts, history, home address... Uh... Not that I need to tell you how to do these things, of course.” 

“I...” Shrugging, I give yet another shake of my head. “I'd love to say that I hadn't even thought about doing such an... underhanded... sort of thing, but...”

“You have?”

“Oh, shit yeah. Of course I have. Maybe not bank accounts so much, but home address, and whether anyone else might live with him, I... To be honest with you I think about it... frequently.”

“But...”

“I haven't done it and nor am I going to as anything I learn about Will I want to hear from Will himself. Let's face it, any one of us could learn just about all there is to know about anyone without even having to get up from a computer, but... It's not right and, with Will, I'd rather hear it from his own lips...” Pausing, I shrug again and, not really having enjoyed making this particular confession about contemplating digging into his background just to alleviate some of my curiosity, decide to move things along in a slightly different direction. “Oh! And if you're going to subscribe to Luther's school of thought in that the reason he keeps knocking back my offer is because he doesn't actually like me, then, please, I don't want to hear it.”

“It's got nothing to do with not liking you,” Jane replies with a grin, “as I'm fairly confident he likes you plenty.”

“You... are?” While I may not have been prepared to accept Luther's idea of Will not actually liking me, nor would I have gone so far as to assume he actually liked me either. Tolerated as an acquaintance, definitely, but... liked? I just don't know. He's always seemed, until, that is, I mentioned the empty spot in the team with his name still on it, pleased enough to see me, and it's not as though we've ever really parted on bad terms or anything, but...

Will. He just makes a complete mockery of my so-called ability to be able to read people.

I like him. I'm always happy to see him on the all too rare occassions that our paths cross. I still, even if I have accepted that it's unlikely to ever happen, want to work with him. I also still want to get to know him better. A lot, lot better, even. 

I just don't...

… Get him.

He's both driven me home and said in as many words that he'd like to be my friend. I've even, although it took a lot of dedication on my part to make sure it actually happened, taken him out to lunch twice, and I like to think that he enjoyed himself as much as I did during these occassions. He's got a good sense of humour, seems particularly skilled in telling anecdotes that you hang off every word of, and...

… Has a self-protective barrier around him that makes the damn Pentagon appear easy to get into in comparison.

Some days, usually when I'm glaring at whoever the unfortunate fourth member of our team is at the time, or, as it currently happens, despairing of the pile of files in front of me, I even wonder if I'd just be better off not knowing that William Brandt even existed. Because of him I'm pre-disposed to being immediately unsatisfied with any agent other than Jane, Benji or Luther, and the fact I still know next to nothing about him frustrates the hell out of me. He's stubborn, secretive, steadfastly refuses to give me what I've decided I want, and if he hadn't been with the Secretary that night in Moscow I wouldn't even know that he worked for the same agency as I do.

Then, just as I've almost reached the conclusion that absolutely, no doubt about it, my life was simply better when I didn't have Will constantly lurking on the periphery of it, I... think about how, even if it is to just both see him and not actually get any further with him, he's given me something to look forward to back in D.C.. Instead of wanting to be in town between missions for as short a time as possible, I now want to stay around for at least as long as it takes me to see Will. Even if it's just catching him for a coffee in the cafeteria, I look forward to seeing him, and...

Maybe, just maybe Luther's actually right in that, should the opportunity ever arise, I certainly wouldn't be against the idea of getting to know him more... intimately. 

Not, mind you, that admitting these sorts of things to myself is of any great help when I still don't know what, if indeed anything, Will thinks of me.

“You know, I could sit here and tease you about the unfamiliar hopeful looking expression you've got going on there,” Jane murmurs, “but... I'm going to take pity on you for a change and just say this. Of course Will likes you. Whenever I see him, which, before you ask, isn't that often, his first question, once the niceties are out of the way, is always about you. Sure, he gets around to asking about Benji, too, but, trust me on this, Ethan, you're the one he's clearly interested in.”

~*~*~*~*~


	2. ~ Two ~

~*~*~*~*~

Waking to the – decidedly unusual at this time of night – sound of the doorbell, I open my eyes and, moving solely on autopilot, throw back the bedding, swing my legs over the edge of the mattress, and sit up. Picking my watch up from the bedside table, I squint at the glow in the dark hands and, as the doorbell once again chimes out through the house, read that it's not yet gone two in the morning. Annoyed, as much at being woken up in the middle of the night as I am by the fact my unwanted visitor was clearly able to make it up to the front door without me being aware of it, I rub my hand over my face for a couple of seconds before standing up and making my way over to the window. Even though it's raining heavily and the sound of the falling rain is definitely a little on the loud side, I still should have been able to hear my – always left deliberately so – creaky gate as it was pushed open and can't help but feel slightly on edge in regards to just whatever it is that's going on here. It's the middle of the night, everyone that I can think of perhaps having cause to want to see me at this hour would have phoned or made some other form of contact first, and, to be perfectly honest, I just don't like it. I don't exactly have an 'open door policy' at the best of times, there's no one I can think of that I particularly want to see at this time of morning, and, the rain making it the sort of night for curling up under mounds of blankets and sleeping, all I really want is to still be in bed.

The sound of the doorbell ringing out yet again doing nothing to improve my mood any, I draw back the drapes and look down at the rain slicked street. To my considerable surprise a Washington Metropolitan Police Department car is parked in front of my gate, and while this in itself doesn't improve my mood what it does do is immediately grab my attention. The police? Why on earth would an officer from the WMPD be standing on my doorstep and repeatedly pressing my doorbell as though they either suffered from Attention Deficit Disorder or were only five minutes away from the end of their shift and just wanted to be on their way already? I'm not listed as anyone's next-of-kin, and as it would take someone with far better skills than your average knuckle-dragging lowlife to get my car out of the driveway I know that it's not like it could have just been used as either a getaway vehicle or for a ram raid, so... I don't know. Maybe there's been a break-in somewhere in the neighbourhood and they're just wanting to know if I happened to see anything out of the ordinary.

Maybe...

… I should stop standing here trying to second guess the reason behind their call and just, in order to be done with it, go down stairs and open the damn door.

Far more curious than I am concerned, I grab my robe and, as I both pull it on and tie it around my waist, make my way down the stairs and up to the front door. Reaching it, I turn the light on in the hallway and, after quickly working my way through all the locks, wrench it open and smile a neutral greeting at the police officer standing on my door mat. Young, in fact it wouldn't surprise me if I really... was... old enough to be his father, and pissed off looking at having to be out and about on such a Godforsaken night, he matches my bland smile with a professional one of his own and steps closer to the open door.

“I'm Officer Clarkson,” he states as I switch the porch light on so that I can get a better look at him, “and while I apologise for getting you out of bed I just have to ask if you can confirm your identity for me.”

“I'm Ethan Hunt,” I reply, folding my arms across my chest as I cock my head to the side and give the officer an openly curious look. “And, yes, before you ask, this is my place my residence. If, however, you're going to ask for proof of identity I'm going to have to go back upstairs to get it.”

“That won't be necessary, Mr Hunt,” the officer responds, flashing another practised and far from heartfelt smile at me as, shifting back from the door, he reaches out and closes his hand around the arm of a second man that I hadn't even been aware was standing on my porch. Wearing a white t-shirt, navy blue track pants and slip on canvas shoes, the man, who has his head lowered and his back to me, is in no way dressed for the wet November night and, seeing as he's both dripping wet and shivering, I can't, despite not being able to recognise who it is, help but feel an instant degree of concern for him. “Again, I'm sorry for bothering you, but do you happen to know this man?” he adds, dragging the clearly unwilling man towards the door and, with an obvious huff of annoyance, spinning him around to face me.

And...

Shit.

Now I'm both curious... and... concerned.

“Will?” Startled, and how, by the realisation that the man being manhandled towards the door by the police officer is my very – difficult to get to know – private friend, I step through the door and, as he keeps his head down and won't look at me, tentatively place my hand on his cold arm. “Uh...” Quickly retracting my hand as Will cringes away from me, I shake my head in confusion and glance at the officer. “William Brandt,” I declare. “His name is William Brandt and, yes, I know him. We work together.”

“And where would that be, sir?” the officer queries, scowling at Will as, wanting to ensure he stays put, he once again reaches out and closes his gloved hand around his bare arm.

“IMF,” I reply matter-of-factly as somehow, and I'm not even entirely sure how, I resist the urge to smack the officer's hand away from Will. Will, who's obviously either highly stressed or in shock and who, now that he's out of the shadows and standing slumped shouldered in front of me, I can see is not only wearing a WMPD t-shirt but that it's also marked with a couple of pale red patches of what I can only imagine has to be transferred blood. 

Just...

What the fuck is going on here?

Why is Will, under the escort, if not in the... custody... of a police officer, standing on my porch in the middle of the night and looking for all the world as though he's... not even there?

“Officer Clarkson?” Reining in both the mass of questions flying around in my head and my imagination, I fix the officer with an expectant look. “I take it that you're here with my friend for a reason?”

“You would be willing, sir, to take Mr Brandt in?” Officer Clarkson queries in the sort of tone of voice that makes 'matter-of-fact' seem positively vibrant as, still scowling, he tugs on Will's arm until, both trembling and with his head bowed, he's standing directly in front of me.

“What? I...” Shaking my head at the, I don't know, sheer... strangeness... of what appears to be taking place on my doorstep, I take half a step towards Will and, not really knowing what else to do, shrug my acceptance. “Of course I...”

“I... I'm sorry!” Will suddenly exclaims as, jerking his head up, he pulls free of Clarkson and shoots me a wide-eyed, if not even slightly panicked look. “I... This was a mistake. I... I can't just expect you to... I... Oh God... I'm sorry...”

His scowl intensifying – which, seriously, is no mean feat – Clarkson grabs Will's wrist and once again propels him towards the doorway. “Sir!” he barks. “As I do not have all night to chauffeur you around, I'm going to have to insist...”

“Of course I'm willing to take him in,” I interrupt, giving the officer a scowl of my own as, not caring whether he likes it or not, I smack his hand away from Will and gently pull my very wet and, I suspect, very much in shock friend in to the house. “Come on, Will,” I add with what I hope is a gentle smile as, clearly not liking my touch any more than Clarkson's, he tries to shake off my hold and, if the way his eyes keep darting towards the path is anything to go by, possibly even make a run for it. “It's okay. You're more than welcome to stay...”

“I'm sorry,” he repeats hoarsely as, giving me a miserable, embarrassed look, he stops struggling and just gazes down at the floor. “I... I shouldn't... You... You don't need this. I... I should go...”

“You're not going anywhere,” I reply in a firm, no nonsense tone as, hoping that I'm reading the visual signs of his slumped shoulders and – unfortunately – defeated attitude correctly in that he's no longer going to try to escape, I let go of his arm. “It's okay, you know. You're here now and, before you say it, you're not putting me out at all, so...” Trailing off, I place my hand lightly on Will's shoulder and, with as little pressure as possible, move him both further into the house and behind me. “How about I make sure Officer Clarkson here has all that he needs before letting him be on his way?”

“But... I'm sorry. You can't be expected to...”

Ignoring Will's apologetic litany of doubt, I force a – just bright enough so that it looks as though I genuinely mean it – smile across my lips and turn my attention to the still scowling policeman standing on my doormat. “Officer Clarkson? Will that be all, or do you perhaps require me to...”

“He's all yours,” Clarkson states, cutting me off as, looking nothing if not relieved, he flashes me what may or may not be a hint of a smile. “As Mr Brandt is not under arrest and was merely helping us with our inquiries, my only role here was to see that he obtained suitable accommodation for the night and can now return to the station.”

“Oh...” While I've been called a lot of things in my time, I have to say being referred to as 'suitable accommodation' is a new one even to me. “Uh... So I don't need to sign anything, or... give you my word that I'll...”

“Nope. As I really was just providing a chauffeur service, he's all yours,” the officer declares, cutting me off again as, his smile broadening, he retrieves his car keys from the pocket of his pants and turns to make his leave. “We will, of course, be needing to speak to you again, Mr Brandt,” he adds over his shoulder, “so, should you either need to leave town or shift to a different location, please ensure that you let the station know.”

“You have my word that he'll keep you up to date on his movements,” I reply, following the officer's lead and giving Will a look over my shoulder when it becomes clear he's not going to answer himself. “You have my address now, Officer Clarkson, and...”

“I'll let you know if anything changes,” Will murmurs quietly as, looking for all the world as though he doesn't know what to do with himself, he hugs his arms loosely around his torso and continues to drip all over my polished floorboards.

“There you have it,” I state, placing my hand on the door in preparation of closing it. “We've both given you our word that we'll keep the station updated, so... Will that be all?”

“That will be all,” the officer confirms, lifting the collar of his heavy jacket up in an attempt to shield the back of his neck from the rain as he steps out from under the porch and on to the path. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”

“Goodnight,” I mutter, watching Clarkson until he's reached the front gate before closing the door and both locking it and turning off the outside light. I then, despite being none the wiser as to what exactly is going on here, bite back a – 'here goes nothing' – sigh and give Will my full attention. 

Will. Who looks...

… Completely and utterly in shock.

… Possibly even just that little bit broken.

… As though, mentally, he's not even really here.

… Somewhat, not that I'm about to share this with him, like the proverbial drowned rat.

With his ghastly – or perhaps that should be... ghostly? – pallor and lowered head, not to mention the way he's holding his arms around his torso as he stares down at absolutely nothing on the floor, he looks...

… In need of a great big hug.

“Uh...” Not knowing what to say, let alone do, I draw on all my acting skills, plaster a hopefully calm, neutral expression on my face, and take a cautious step towards him. “Will? Do you want to tell me...”

“I'm sorry. I... I shouldn't have come here,” he mumbles as, with a deep, clearly shaky breath, he risks a fleeting glance in my general direction. “I... I got you out of bed, and... and obviously I wasn't thinking, and... I... Oh God... I'm sorry for... For putting you out. For... dripping all over your floor. For... I... I'm sorry for everything...”

“Well I'm not,” I declare softly, shifting just that little bit closer to Will and, although it causes him to take a reflexive step backwards, positioning myself directly in front of him. “I'm glad, even if I don't actually have a clue as to what's going on, that you're here, that you... even thought to come to me. Will, I... I don't know what's happened, but it's okay. You're more than welcome here and I promise you that I'll do whatever I can to help you.”

Shaking his head, Will tightens his arms around himself and drops his gaze back down to the floor. “I shouldn't have come here,” he repeats in a quiet, defeated tone. “I shouldn't have thought that what I was doing was enough. I... Oh God... I shouldn't have failed him. He... If I'd...” His breath suddenly catching in his throat, he jerks his head up and, locking his very wide eyes on mine, tries to move past me. “Ethan, I... I'm sorry. Just... I... I should go.”

“You're not going anywhere,” I reply as, my levels of curiosity reaching hitherto unknown levels, I take matters – literally – in to my own hands and gently grab Will by the shoulders. “Will... Come on. You need to calm down and...”

“I didn't know where else to go. Everything... Everything happened so quickly that I didn't have time, didn't... think... to pick up my wallet or phone. I... I just... That is, I don't... I don't know what I was thinking,” he states breathlessly, the words falling out of his mouth in a rush as, quite possibly too stunned by my over-familiar touch to know what else to do, he stiffens and once again lowers his head. “The police... I had to go with the police for questioning, and then, then when they were finished with me they said I couldn't go back home, that it... it was still considered a crime scene, I... I didn't know what to do. I had no money, no phone, the police wanted me gone, and... You... I'm sorry, Ethan, but out of nowhere I remembered that I knew where you lived, and I... I thought... Oh God... I don't know what I thought...”

“Whatever it was you thought,” I murmur, tightening my grip on his shoulder and trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to get him to both lift his head and look at me, “you were right. Just... Look at me, Will. Please... It's okay. I'm okay with the fact that you're here and, again, I'll do whatever I can for you. Just... Come on. You need to calm down and let me help you.”

“I need... What I need is for it to have never happened, for... for him to still be alive,” Will whispers both cryptically and with a groan of obvious anguish. “He... Ethan, he... He killed himself! I... I came home just in time to hear the gunshot and... there wasn't anything I could do! After... Oh God... After everything we've... everything... he's... been through...” Whimpering, he blinks back tears and, looking more agitated by the second, tries to pull back from me. “I... I just...”

“Hey... Shhh... It's okay...”

Well. That's what I have to keep telling myself, anyway. It's okay. Everything's okay. I mightn't have a fucking clue as to what's really going on, Will's – wet, cold and babbling about... his house mate... having killed himself – in shock, and...

It's okay.

Let's face it, as giving up and leaving Will to his own devices in favour of just going back to bed isn't exactly an option, things... have... to be okay.

Breaking it down in to easily manageable... facts, a man Will happens to have been close to killed himself tonight and he's in shock. He's also been questioned by the police as they would have wanted to be sure that it was actually a suicide and, seeing as his home is still a crime scene, he's here because he couldn't think of anywhere else to go, and...

It's okay.

It's...

… Going to be okay.

“I... I just feel so... numb,” he mumbles as, no doubt realising I have no intention of letting him go anywhere, he stops struggling and drops his arms to his sides. “The police, they... I know they were only doing their job, that... they had to ask these things, but they... I could see it in the way they were looking at me. They thought, because he was so much younger, that I was some sort of predator, that I'd... probably corrupted or used him, and... Oh God, Ethan, you've got to believe me! It wasn't like that at all. He... Anthony... Because I promised Paul that I would, all I was doing was trying to look after him. I... I never...” His voice breaking with emotion, Will whimpers again as, it finally getting all too much for him, tears start to slide down his cheeks. “Having them look at me like that, it... it just...”

“It was just the final straw,” I offer soothingly as, almost relieved to be able to get a word in, I just give in to temptation and wrap my arms around Will. Pulling him close, I hug him tightly and just... hope for the best. I'm hugging him, effectively... trapping him, and instead of fighting me or even reacting with indignation, he's not only letting me but he's also curling his fingers into the front of my robe and, with a soft sigh, slumping against me as though, somehow, it was what he was waiting for.

“The... last in a long line of... final straws,” Will replies in a muffled tone as he rests his head down on my shoulder and it becomes clear that he's well and truly given up. “I tried... I tried so hard, but, it... It wasn't enough, and I... I feel so...”

“Cold and wet,” I finish, deliberately injecting a hint of facetiousness in my voice in the hope of, in a sense, just keeping things moving. Sure, there's a mass of questions swirling around in my head, questions that, in his obviously shocked and vulnerable state, Will would probably try to stammer answers to if I were to pose them to him. I could put him on the spot, demand answers, and, by doing so, most likely push him over the edge he's currently teetering on once and for all. My curiosity would be put to bed, and Will...

Well... There'd probably be nothing left of him.

And I couldn't, I... can't... do it to him.

I can't bombard him with questions simply to feed my own peace of mind as, and there's really no other way of putting it, it would be as selfish as it would be cruel. Will's in no state for anything right at the moment and my only concerns have to be for what's in his best interests. He needs to warm up, calm down, and, I think, sleep. They may all just be temporary measures as they're not going to change anything that's happened, or even what he's going through, but what they will do is get him through what's left of the night and, for now at least, that just has to be as good a start as any.

“I'm sorry,” Will whispers, releasing his hold on my robe as, blushing, he squirms free and hurriedly backs away. “I've made you all wet, and I... Sorry... I... I just can't do anything right...”

Turning a deaf ear to his latest in an increasingly long line of apologetic rambles, I walk over to Will and, although he both gives me a wary look and visibly tenses, slide my arm around his waist. “Come on, you,” I murmur as I begin to slowly guide him towards the stairs. “Let's get you out of these wet clothes and into a warm shower.”

“I'm sor...”

“Don't. Seriously, Will, just don't,” I interrupt as, my ability to play Mr Nice and Mr Patient only stretching so far, I shoot him a warning look. “You don't have anything to apologise for. You're here now and... here is where you're staying, so, please... Just let me look after you.”

“I... I'm only being a nuisance...”

“I'd actually have gone with... repetitive... myself.”

“But...”

“No buts, and no apologies...”

“You don't need this,” Will murmurs with a sigh of what I almost hope is exasperation as, in a display of contrariness, he comes to a stop at the foot of the stairs.

“And you do?” I counter, pulling my arm away from my waist and, after shifting behind him, closing my hands around his shoulders. “Now. Come on. Move.”

“But...”

“Do you want me to carry you?”

“What? No! I...”

“Then just move already.” Backing my words up with actions, I push against his shoulders until, with a huff of either annoyance or resignation, he starts to walk up the stairs. “Hallelujah,” I mutter under my breath as, taking my minor success and just running with it, I follow Will up on to the landing and turn him in the direction of my bedroom. Reaching it, I keep my hands pressed against his back and propel him into the en suite. I then, as Will starts to look almost as confused as he does bedraggled and miserable, step around him, open the glass door into the shower cubical, and turn on the water. Once I've got the temperature to my liking, I smile, mentally cross my fingers that this is actually going to work – if not wonderfully, then at least well enough – and just... shove Will into the shower.

Not exactly surprisingly, this, the suddenly finding himself standing fully clothed under a warm spray of water, obviously comes as something of a shock to Will and, clearly unsure as to how he should react, he just stares at me as, still smiling, I start to close the glass door. “What? You were expecting me to help you undress?” I mutter, playing the light-hearted card in an attempt to diffuse the randomness of the moment.

“I... Oddly enough, I don't know what I was expecting,” Will replies with a lacklustre shrug. “Ethan, I...”

“You needed a shower and, as you probably already know, I don't mess around,” I retort, mirroring his shrug as I click the door shut and turn to walk out of the en suite. “Just let me get you something to sleep in and then I'll leave you to it.” Making my way in to the bedroom without waiting for an answer, I walk over to the dresser and, opening the top draw, pull out two pairs of pyjamas. One, pretty much a copy of what I'm already wearing, I throw on to the bed in anticipation of changing in to them in a moment, and the other a dark grey pair in the classic style favoured by old men everywhere that I call my 'hospital' pyjamas because I only ever use them when I'm stuck, languishing in a hospital bed and want to play at looking respectable. What Will usually chooses to sleep in being yet another one of those questions I don't exactly have an answer for, I decide on giving him the 'hospital' pyjamas to put on for the simple reason they're my newest, and therefore in best condition, pair. While I doubt he's in any fit state – for anything, actually – to look down his nose at the quality or style of my sleepwear, my only goal here is to get him warm, dressed, and in to bed and, because of this, they'll do.

Pyjamas obtained, I walk back in to the en suite just as Will finishes pulling his t-shirt off over his head. Focussed on what he's doing, he doesn't give any indication of being aware of my return and I take the moment to cast an appraising eye over his bare torso. Not, I hasten to add, because I'm wanting to check out his body – which, admittedly, is quite fine – but because I need to know the reason behind the blood stains on his t-shirt. If he's injured in any way, I need to know because I might have to tend to his wounds, and if he's not, then... I just need to be able to put my mind to rest. To my relief his chest – which, again, really does make for a pleasant sight – appears unblemished, which, in turn, leads me to believe that the blood had to have come from the mysterious Anthony. In fact, it actually makes close to perfect sense. So much that I can even imagine how it happened. He came through the door, heard the shot, ran to Anthony, got covered in his blood trying to save him, then, once the police were questioning him they would have taken his clothing for evidence and, without giving him time to first clean himself up, given him the track pants and t-shirt to put on. The t-shirt, being both thin and white, would have picked up the dried blood on his chest and then, when he got wet from the rain, it would have ran and seeped in to the fabric.

Not nice, and the police certainly could have been a little kinder to him, but still better than carrying an injury and, for me anyway, one less thing to worry about.

Noticing that he's not alone just as he reaches for the waistband of his track pants, Will freezes and, without even blinking the water out of his eyes, just stares at me as, hiding my embarrassment at having been caught staring myself behind a bland smile, I hurry over to the toilet and place the pyjamas down on the closed seat. “Before you feel compelled to say anything,” I state, heading back over towards the door, “they're my... extra special... 'hospital' pyjamas and, really, you should consider yourself... honoured... that I'm letting you borrow them. Now...” Pausing in the doorway, I glance over my shoulder – not so much at Will himself but in the general direction of the shower – and add, “Take as long as you like and... uh... I'll be back to make sure you've got everything you need in ten or so minutes...”

My piece said, I then, just as I did when I left the en suite the first time, walk into the bedroom without waiting for a response and pull the door three-quarters shut behind me. Accepting that dwelling on how essentially... clueless... I am in terms of just what it is that's happening here isn't exactly going to achieve anything, I decide to just keep myself busy with mundane tasks for the time being and, after quickly changing in to the dry pyjamas, head downstairs. Detouring by the ground floor bathroom, I grab a few towels and make a token – at best – attempt to mop up all the water on the floorboards by the front door before, with a shrug, just leaving the towels all over the floor and walking in to the kitchen. There, I take a bottle of water from the fridge and count to two hundred in my head before making my way slowly back up the stairs. 

It's not that I'm out of my depth, or even that I don't particularly know what it is I'm doing. It, my hesitation and sense of self-doubt, is more that I don't want to inadvertently do anything that leaves Will feeling either cornered or even worse than he's already feeling. Someone that obviously means a lot to him has just killed himself, he's been extensively questioned by the police, and he's in shock. He's also, because he couldn't think of anywhere else to go, here. Outside of his self-imposed comfort zone, and... floundering to make sense of everything. The suicide, the accusations levelled at him by the police, the very fact that – life as he's known it has come to an abrupt stop – he's here in my house. Whether I've been doing a good enough job of it so far or not, all I want to be able to do is get it through to him that I'm here for him in any way that he needs. I don't want to dictate or dominate, and just want to do what I hope is best for him. The full picture, for once, and I'll admit this is unusual for me, can wait as the only person who really matters here is Will.

I just have to remember that, that's all, and persevere. He's private, possibly even just a bit secretive, and – let's not forget here how he's been a constant source of fascination for me for the better part of a year – right now he's my responsibility.

For better, and for worse.

Entering the bedroom, I head over to my bedside table and am in the process of retrieving two small pill bottles from the drawer when the bathroom door opens and Will steps hesitantly in to the room. Although the warmth of the shower has added a little much needed colour to his cheeks, he still looks – off with the fairies – as though he's far from with it and, with no hesitation whatsoever, I decide that the quicker I can just get him in to bed, and hopefully asleep, the better.

“Good shower?” I murmur with a bland smile as I close the drawer and take a seat on the edge of the bed.

“At least the water was warm,” Will replies in a tone of voice that's as blandly neutral as my smile. “Hospital pyjamas, huh?” he adds, pulling the bathroom door shut before picking up the hem of his top and frowning down at it.

“Well, you know, I wouldn't want to get the nurses too excited, now, would I?” I reply, holding out the pill bottles towards Will. “Moving on though from what you might be thinking about the pyjamas I've, very kindly, I might add, inflicted on you, what'll it be?”

“What will... what... be?” Will queries as, caught, just as I hoped he would, by the strangeness of my offer, he shifts closer and peers at the pill bottles.

“Painkillers or sleeping pills,” I respond, standing up and walking over to him. “I could be wrong, but you look...”

“Like shit?”

“I was going to go with the slightly more polite... like death warmed up, myself.”

“Well, if the cap fits and all that,” Will mutters with a small shrug as he continues to gaze at the pill bottles. “I'm getting the impression though that I actually look so bad that you're wanting to drug me.”

“Help you,” I correct. “Again, I could be wrong, but you look as though you've got one hell of a headache, and...”

“You're not wrong.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Okay, then. So... Painkillers for your head, or sleeping pills just to put a full stop on this night once and for all?”

“Don't tell me, let me guess,” Will murmurs, lifting his head and giving me what can only be described as a blank look, “if I choose the headache pills you're just going to swap them out and knock me out anyway...”

Hiding my surprise at the sheer... suspiciousness... of his question behind a smirk and a shake of my head, I mutter, “Believe it or not, I hadn't even thought of that and, hey, while I'm not going to stand here and say that it's not actually a pretty good idea, the answer is... No. And the reason the answer is no, Will, is because I want you to know that you can trust me. Hell... You don't have to take anything if you don't want...”

“Sleeping pills,” Will interrupts, placing his hand lightly on my wrist for a second or two before gently prying the pill bottle from my fingers. “I... I just want to sleep, and I... I do trust you, Ethan, and... I'm sorry for landing on you like this, and... for putting you out, but I... I just didn't know where else to go, and...”

“Here you are,” I state, flashing Will a genuine smile as I place the painkillers down on the bedside table before picking the bottle of water up and handing it to him. “It's okay, Will. I really don't mind, and you're not putting me out. So... Come on. Let's just get you into bed so you can go to sleep.”

Nodding, Will dutifully swallows two pills with a mouthful of water. “Thanks,” he whispers, placing the pill bottle and the water on the bedside table before starting to walk towards the door.

“Uh...” Closing my hand around his arm, I turn him around and direct him towards the bed. “Where do you think you're going, huh?”

“But... This is your bed,” he mumbles as, the sleeping pills being – both a concoction of the IMF infirmary and potent to say the least – of the extremely fast acting variety, he nonetheless allows me to help him down on to the edge of mattress. “I...”

“And tonight it's your bed,” I murmur, giving him a no nonsense look as I pull the bedding back. “Just... Lie down before the pills knock you out and I have to manhandle you...”

“But...” His shoulders slumping as he quite literally starts to fall asleep in front of me, Will shrugs and, without another word, lets me help him into bed.

“While it might not have been your most coherent response,” I mutter, carefully pulling the bedding up over Will as his eyes seem to close the very second his head settles down on the pillow, “I'm going to take it anyway. So... Good night, Will, and... I'll see you in the morning...”

Confident that the pills have already more than admirably done their job, I turn the light off and walk out of the bedroom. My guest room being more of a dumping ground for junk – that 'one of these days' I plan to get around to sorting through – than it is fit for actually sleeping in, I grab a couple of blankets from the linen cupboard on the landing before making my way downstairs and in to the living room. Leaving the light on in the hall to guide me, I sink down on to the sofa, spread the blankets out over me and, after piling all the cushions up against the arm, stretch out in the hope of being able to sleep. More or less comfortable, I'm about to close my eyes when I spot my laptop sitting on the coffee-table and half sit back up.

Having, albeit not exactly officially sanctioned, access to the WMPD computer system, I could turn on the laptop, log in to their network, and read their take on what went down at Will's house earlier tonight. I could... learn who Anthony was, read Will's actual statement, and, without having to wait for both morning and for Will to feel up to explaining things to me, I could have all my answers. Will wouldn't even have to know that I'd gone behind his back and accessed the police report, and...

I can't do it.

That is, I could. Of course I could. I could have answers to a great many of my questions in less than five minutes, yet...

I don't want to do it.

Yes. I want answers, but what I want more than the simple satisfaction of getting them is for them to come from Will himself. I want him to show that he does actually trust me by talking freely, and, in turn, I want to be able to both listen closely and react accordingly... instead of having to focus on pretending that it was all actually news to me.

So...

No.

I could do it, but I'm not going to.

My decision made, I settle back down, pull the blankets up to my chin and, closing my eyes, simply wait for sleep to descend.

~*~*~*~*~


	3. ~ Three ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the answers - yay!
> 
> (Quite possibly OTT answers, but, hey, never forget this is an OLD fic - and I had my reasons at the time.)
> 
> Get through this, and you're actually halfway there. Yay, again!

~*~

Waking to the familiar sound of a message coming through on my iPad, I open my eyes and, for a second or two, just marvel at the fact I've been sleeping on the sofa. Not just... sleeping, as in I'd dozed off while either working or watching something, but... proper sleeping, as in with blankets and everything. Reality, as I sit up and, entirely on autopilot, reach past the laptop on the coffee-table for the iPad, then hits me in that the reason I've spent the night on the sofa is because I've got a house-guest. 

A very unexpected house-guest in the form of one William Brandt, or, as Luther's been prone to referring to him, my... pet-project. 

Dropping the iPad on to my lap, I stretch and, wanting to know what time it is more than I want to see what my message is, wake-up the tablet. Seeing, somewhat to my relief, that it's not quite seven in the morning, I relax back against the sofa and open up the message folder. The sleeping pills Will took being as predictable as they are potent, I know that he'll sleep until just after nine at the earliest and that the next two hours are solely mine to do as I want with them. When I originally went to bed last night, I'd thought, seeing as I wasn't expected at HQ at any point through the day, that I'd start the morning off with a run and, given that I can no longer hear any rain falling outside, I can see no reason to deviate from this. The bag I'd had with me on the last mission is still in the laundry, which means, and, yes, I'm working on the assumption here that not everything contained within it is dirty, that I won't have to sneak in to the bedroom and run the risk of disrupting Will for clothing, and...

It's a plan.

Of sorts.

I'll read my message, do what I have to do in the bathroom, change into sweats, and go for a run. It'll give me something physical and, in a way, reassuring to do, and, even more importantly, it'll give me something to take my mind off the human question mark sleeping in my bed.

More or less satisfied with my time-table for the next hour or so, I tap my finger on the iPad in order to bring the screen back to artificial life and, with more annoyance than either surprise or actual interest, note that I'm being invited to join an active mission as the team has identified a person of interest as one I've had dealings with in the past. The invitation, written by someone whose name isn't even familiar to me and who I can only assume is the team leader, is vague at best, and despite it being correct in that I have had dealings with the man before, nothing about the request is actually grabbing my attention. In fact, the way I read it is it's far more a case of 'if you've got nothing to do and would like to lend us a hand as, hey, why research this bastard when you can just come in and tell us what to do', than it is 'the Secretary has declared you're essential to this mission and a plane is waiting for you on the runway even as you read this.'

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to save us from having to read a file or two.

Frowning, I let the tablet shut itself down and dump it back on the coffee-table. While the request is a far from compelling one, I do know the person of interest in question and know that I could be of reasonably valuable assistance to the mission. Randolph Hurst, an ex-CIA agent who now trades highly classified government intelligence for diamonds, is someone I've had quite a few dealings with over the years. He's cunning, connected, and always seems to be able to slither free from even the most carefully constructed of traps. To be honest, his existence, and the fact I've never been able to bring him down, annoys me on a professional level, but... What it doesn't do is push my buttons on a... personal level. Hurst's never done anything to be personally or caused physical injury to anyone I know, and, to be perfectly blunt here, he's not really on my list of targets that I'd drop everything to go after. He's of interest, sure, and of course I want IMF to stop him in his tracks. Do I care though, if I'm involved in his – hopefully – final stand?

And the answer is, no. I don't.

I could help the team. Maybe I... should... help them. It is, after all, what I do, what I'm paid for. IMF. Mission work. I could join them in New York and bring them up to speed on what I know about how Hurst operates. I could even throw myself in to the task of trying to help them bring him down.

Or...

They could read the extensive and generally up-to-date file IMF have on Hurst and just use their own initiate – they are, after all, a team of highly trained field agents – to proceed however they best see fit.

Sighing, I sit up straighter and run my fingers through my hair. When it all boils down to it, not that I particularly like admitting this to myself, if it wasn't for Will sleeping in my bed upstairs I'd probably have already emailed in my acceptance and be heading out the door. The request might be a lame one, but it's still one I'm both suited to and would be able to play a valuable part in, and the – ever dutiful – agent in me can see the logic in just accepting it. It's just...

Will.

If I went, I'd be leaving Will.

He doesn't need me, I know that, just as I know there's probably more than a good chance he won't want to talk about what happened last night anyway, but...

Fuck.

I don't know.

Curiosity, or concern.

If I refuse the request, which is what I'm definitely leaning towards, is it because my curiosity regarding the enigma that is William Brand is, courtesy of his arrival on my doorstep, at an all time high? Or, alternatively, is it because I...

… Genuinely care about him?

Curiosity, I could more or less put to rest by hacking in to the WMPD network. It wouldn't answer everything, but it'd still offer me more than I have now and I could leave D.C. safe in the knowledge that I had a better idea as to who Anthony was.

It just...

It just wouldn't be enough though.

Regardless of whether it's entirely one sided or not, I care about Will. He's stubbornly private, one of the hardest people to get to know that I've ever met, and, ever since Dubai, not a day has gone by that I haven't thought about him.

So, while he mightn't need me...

… He's got me.

I'm under no obligation to join the team in New York, I like to think they'll be able to succeed without my involvement, and, even if they screw up and Hurst once again gets away, then... So be it. I've made my decision. 

I'm staying in D.C..

For Will.

I'm staying for Will, not because I want to make the most of the best chance I've ever had to get to know him a little better, but because I care for him and want, in any way that I can, to just be there for him.

I'm also staying because, even if he's still struggling to justify to himself just why he did it, he came to me for a reason. Even if it was solely down to having no money and not knowing where else to go, Will chose to come to me and, while, fine, I may just be clutching at straws or trying to make something out of nothing, I like to think it has to count for something. Not need or affection, as, seriously, even just plain old acceptance would do. Having niggled away at his defences for near on ten months now, Will, and I honestly do hope this is the case, just accepts my presence in his life, and, better still, has also come to accept that I'm his friend.

And, as his friend, it's only right that I stay here for him.

Oddly pleased, even if it has gone against my usual instinct to put the IMF and mission work above and beyond everything else, with how my thought process has gone, I lean forward and retrieve the iPad from the coffee-table. Turning it on, I return to the message inviting me – and my expertise – to New York and quickly type out a professional looking reply that, basically, simply states... thanks, but no thanks. Coaching it along the lines of being too busy to leave D.C., I direct Adrian Simpson, the team leader I've never heard of before, to my old mission reports and, although I really hope he doesn't take me up on the offer, mention that I'm happy to be contacted at any time if he's got any specific questions. Hitting send, I wait until a read receipt has come up on screen before dropping the tablet down on to the sofa and standing up. 

There still being a good ninety or so minutes before I expect Will to return to the land of the conscious, my plan of just going for a run still strikes me as a good one and, seeing absolutely no reason to look for anything else to do with my time, I make my way in to the laundry and crouch down by my discarded mission bag. Opening it, I ferret through the contents not only for a set of sweats but also for something to put on after my post-run shower. Once I'm satisfied that my small collection of clothing looks thankfully clean enough and that I've got everything that I need, I carry my haul into the bathroom and, after quickly running through an abbreviated version of my usual morning ablutions, change into my sweats, lace up my Nike's, and head out the door with something of a spring in my step. Although Benji can't get his head around it at all, I'm one of those – to him, extremely peculiar – people who run as much for simple pleasure as for exercise as it really is something I just happen to enjoy. The time is always solely my own. I can use it to think things through, or I can concentrate on putting one foot after the other and just run, and, regardless of Benji's take on it being something he'll only do under duress, I honestly feel as though I'd be lost without it.

Pulling the door quietly closed, I go through the motions of warming up for ten minutes before just being on my way. Knowing the neighbourhood well, I don't use any predetermined route and simply run in one direction for approximately thirty minutes before turning around and making my way back. Once I'm home I cool down on the porch before sneaking back inside and making way way directly to the downstairs bathroom. A not overly quick shower, shave, teeth clean, and the pulling on of clothes later, I walk into the kitchen and prepare myself a perfectly perfunctory breakfast of toast and coffee that I eat standing by the sink and staring out the window in to the back yard. When I've finished, I wash my small collection of dishes and stack them on the drainer before glancing at my watch and confirming that, yes, I've wasted enough time and Will should be getting extremely close to waking.

Wanting to at least look as though I've got a good reason for arriving in the doorway the very second he wakes up, I decide – okay, perhaps just a little bit in desperation – to take Will breakfast in bed and set about preparing both another two pieces of toast and a fresh cup of coffee. Once they're ready, I – stop prevaricating – carry his breakfast up the stairs and, not having a hand free with which to knock, push the bedroom door open with my foot and walk in to the room. My timing, just as I pretty much expected it to be, being perfect, I've barely placed the plate and the cup on the bedside table when Will blinks his eyes open and gives me a sleepy, befuddled look. 

“Ethan?” he mumbles, immediately pushing himself up into a sitting position. “What... I...”

“Those pills you took last night,” I interject helpfully as, not wanting to appear as though I'm towering over him, I take a seat on the edge of the mattress, “they were the infirmary's extra-special concoction. You know, the ones that could stop a stampeding elephant in its tracks.”

“That would explain then why I feel as though I've been hit by a truck,” Will replies with a yawn as he settles himself back against the pillows. “I remember taking the pills and... that's it. I... I'm assuming it's the following morning, yeah?”

“It's just gone past nine in the morning,” I confirm, somehow, and only just mind you, resisting the urge to give his foot a squeeze through the bedding. “You slept for the IMF allocated eight hours and... today is another day.”

“For some.” Sighing, Will looks down at his lap. “Today is another day for... some,” he whispers. “The pills, they might have put a sudden stop to everything last night, but, I... Everything else, everything that happened before then I still remember clearly. Just as, now that I'm awake, I'm aware of everything I've got to do, how... How I've got to get moving...”

“Get moving?” I shake my head and, as he makes to throw back the bedding, fix Will with a stern look. “I've got news for you,” I murmur, carefully patting the blanket back down around him as, clearly taken aback by my reaction, he frowns at me, “and that's that you're not going anywhere. Not just yet, anyway.”

“What are you talking about?” Will demands, his frown giving way to an expression of obvious annoyance as, casually reiterating my stance on him not getting up and going anywhere soon, I place my hand on his knee and press down on it. “Ethan? I don't know what you're playing at, but...”

“I'm not playing at anything,” I interject, using my free hand to gesture at the bedside table. “You know as well as I do that those sleeping pills pack a punch, and that you can't just be... up and at 'em... the second you wake up. You need to eat and...”

“I'm not hungry.”

“And you know something? I really don't care.”

“But...”

“Uh! You're not going anywhere until you've had something to eat.”

“Ethan, I...”

“I accept that you've got a lot on your plate, and that you probably think I'm just, for reasons known only to myself, running interference, but if you stop and think about things for a second you'll know that I'm right.”

“I...” Sighing heavily, Will slumps back against the pillows. “I've got to get back to the house,” he states flatly. “I need to notify people, and... and start making funeral arrangements, and...”

“And taking ten minutes to eat a couple of pieces of cold toast and drink a hopefully still warm enough cup of coffee isn't going to make any difference to anything,” I counter, relaxing my hold on his knee so that instead of pressing firmly down on it I'm just giving it a gentle squeeze instead. “Look. You don't even have to endure my company. Just promise me you'll eat something and I'll leave you in peace until you're ready to be taken back to your place.”

“You don't have to...” Falling abruptly silent, Will shakes his head and, I swear just for good measure, folds his arms across his chest. “Thank you for the kind offer, for... everything, actually, but...”

“Everything? Don't... over credit me there, Will. I mean, I pushed you into a shower, made you wear a pair of pyjamas that even most grandfather's would turn their nose up at, all but shoved sleeping pills down your throat, and left you to sleep...” Pausing, I flash him a mildly vacuous smile and give an airy shrug. “Now, I don't know how that rates in your book, but in mine it's pretty much close to a non event.”

“I got you up, inflected the dead-from-the-knees-up Officer Clarkson on you, dripped all over your floor, and... evicted you from your own bed,” Will counters. “I suspect, even though you're doing a good job of trying to hide it, I may even have worried you a little and, hey, God knows you've just got to be being eaten up with curiosity, so... I don't know. As non events go this strikes me as a fairly substantial one.”

“Of course you worried me,” I reply with another shrug, “and, fine, I'd only be lying if I said I wasn't curious, but that's only because you're my friend and I'm concerned about you. Being woken up, the floor, letting you have my bed... None of those things bother me, and, before you say it again, you're not putting me out. I have the day off anyway and am more than willing to help you in any way that you might need.”

“I have to be putting you out,” Will murmurs with a sigh as he picks up the cup of coffee and curls his hands around it. “I... I also know that I owe you an explanation...”

“You don't... owe... me anything,” I state, cutting him off as, deciding to take the fact he's picked up the coffee as a sign of success, I let go of his knee and rest my hand on my lap. “I'm not going to sit here and say that I don't want to know, as I do. Of course I do. This isn't simply because of curiosity either as, just as I said a moment ago, you're my friend and I want to be able to help you.”

“I don't want to be putting you out,” Will replies, giving me a dejected look as he brings the cup up to his lips and takes a sip of coffee. “Ethan, seriously, you've done enough for me already and I want you to know that I truly am grateful, but I... I can't impose on you any more and need to...” Trailing off, he stares down at the cup in his hand. “Uh... I'm sorry, but I... I'm going to have to ask to borrow some money for a taxi. I'll pay you back, of course, but...”

“If it's money for a taxi you want, you can have it,” I interrupt as, making a snap decision to lay my proverbial cards on the table and just hope for the best, I stand up. “Just... Listen to me, Will, as I really am only going to say this once. I get that all of this is making you uncomfortable and, as that's the last thing you need, I want you to know that the ball's entirely in your court. If you just want to finish your breakfast before getting dressed and taking a taxi home, then... I'm not going to stop you. If, however, you think you'd like some company, then... I'm offering it to you freely. I'll drive you anywhere you want to go, and... you don't have to tell me anything that you don't want to, but...” Pausing, I walk over to stand by the doorway. “The choice is yours though, and yours alone. I'm not going to argue with you at every turn, or push you into a corner, I... I just want you to know that I'm here for you if you want me to be.”

“Ethan...”

“The choice is yours,” I repeat, cutting Will off as I turn around and start to move out of the room. “When you're ready, help yourself to whatever you want to wear, and... I'll be waiting for you downstairs. Whatever you want, Will, you just have to say and I'll respect it...”

There being nothing else I can think of to say, I– mentally cross my fingers and just hope for the best – leave Will to it and head down the stairs. Maybe it, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he's the one in charge here and, regardless of whether I actually agree with it – or even like it, for that matter – I'll go along with his wishes, wasn't the best way to go. But, really, what other choice did I actually have? I can't stand over him and force him to bend to my will and, despite it not particularly being in my nature to take a step back when I'm concerned about someone, I just have to let him do things in both his own time and in his own way.

If he wants to – pretend last night never happened – borrow the money for a taxi and be on his way, then... So be it. I won't like it, but I'll respect it. Just as, while I might like to think I've got a pretty good handle on Will and what it is that makes him tick, what I also have to accept is that I don't really know him that well at all. Not well enough, at any rate, to have a good feeling as to what his decision might be. I know that he's deeply private and, possibly because he doesn't know any other way, likes to do things on his own. What I also know though is...

He chose to come here.

So...

I don't know. I just don't know. He'll either find a way to accept my help, or he won't.

Over thinking it all isn't going to achieve anything though, and it's with this in mind that I walk into the living room and, after folding up the blankets and placing them under the coffee-table, pick up the iPad and sink down on to the sofa. Switching it on, I bring up the online site for the New York Times and just lose myself in reading up on the world's news. When I've finished with the Times, I move over to the Guardian for the UK's slant on things and have just finished an – depressing – article about recent events in Syria when Will materialises in the doorway. Carrying a small pile of clothing in his hands, he looks at me with an unreadable expression on his face and murmurs, “I've already placed the dishes in the sink, but... as I wouldn't feel right just leaving the dirty clothes for you to deal with, have you got a bag that I could put them in?”

Dropping the iPad down on to the sofa, I stand up and make a point of checking out just what it is he's holding. “Unless you're wanting to keep them as a souvenir,” I reply, walking over to him and lightly poking the pyjamas, “which, well, I'm assuming you don't, just give them to me and I'll place them in the laundry. As for... the rest of it...” Trailing off, I pluck the WMPD branded t-shirt and track pants out of his hand and, wrinkling my nose, start to walk towards the kitchen. “Failing you giving me a good reason as to why I shouldn't, these are just going straight in the bin.”

“Bin works for me,” Will responds, trailing after me and watching from just inside the doorway as I dump the still damp pieces of clothing in to the kitchen bin. “Given the lack of choice I had in the matter last night, they... did what they had to do, but...”

“You don't care if you never see them again,” I finish, glancing over at Will and, liking what I'm seeing, giving him a quick smile. The contents of my wardrobe having clearly been more to his liking than what the WMPD had had to offer him, he's managed to pair a black, fine wool v-neck sweater – that I don't actually remember owning at all – with a white shirt and a pair of classic denim jeans. And, what can I say other than... it works. It works incredibly well, in fact. He's pale, and I suspect there's a fair bit of 'looking like he feels' going on, but, damn it, there's no denying he still looks good.

“You're right,” he agrees, both quietly and with a small shrug. “I never want to see them again.” Shifting further in to the kitchen, he looks at me for what feels like an astonishingly long period of time but which, in reality, would be lucky to have been more than few seconds, before glancing away and giving another shrug. “What I'm wearing, it... it's okay? I pretty much just grabbed the first things I came to, but...”

“It's fine,” I interject as, not wanting to give the impression I'm either staring at him too closely, or waiting too impatiently to hear what it is he's decided to do, I walk over to the sink and start to rinse the dishes. “Seriously. It's...” More than fine, really, but I doubt he's in the frame of mind to hear that at the moment. “It's just a good job that we're the same size, yeah...”

“In shoes and all, if you can believe it,” Will replies, shifting further into the kitchen and, to my surprise, coming to stand next to me. “Ethan, I... Thank you for... uh... everything. I know that I haven't been very fair on you, but...”

“You've been... nothing of the sort. Come on, Will. You've got to stop thinking that way. Just...” Pausing, I turn the tap off, dry my hands on my jeans and, much to his immediate discomfort, look him directly in the eyes. “We're friends, aren't we?”

“I...” Cocking his head to the side, Will – yet again to my considerable surprise – meets my gaze for a moment and, after opening and closing his mouth as though he doesn't quite know how to reply, both shrugs and nods. “Yes. That is, I... I like to think that we're friends.”

“Then, seeing as we're on the same page here, don't... apologise, or doubt yourself, and just... accept that I'm here for you in any way that you want me to be.

“I still don't think I've been particularly fair to you, but...” Taking a deep breath, Will reaches out his hand and places it lightly on my arm. “If you honestly don't have anything better to do with your time, I... I really would appreciate it if you were able to give me a lift back to my place. I mean, I'm fine with calling a taxi, and... uh... don't want to put you out, but...”

“If you're ready to go,” I interrupt, hiding my – pleasure – relief at Will's decision to avail himself to my chauffeuring skills by not making a big deal of it and starting to head towards the door, “I'll just take the pyjamas from you and dump them in the laundry before grabbing my keys.”

“Just...”

“Like that.”

“Uh... Okay.” Following me out of the kitchen, Will hands me the pyjamas and watches as I detour into the laundry and place them in to the basket. I then retrieve my phone and keys from the small table by the door into the living room before, with yet another shrug, walk up the front door and open it. “Thank you,” he adds, giving me an all too brief and all too grim smile as, joining me, I gesture him through the door and out on to the porch. “I know...”

“You're not putting me out,” I state, cutting him off and shooting him a warning look as I step outside and both shut and lock the door. “So...”

“That, believe it or not, wasn't what I was going to say,” Will replies, frowning as, side by side, we walk over to where my Mercedes is parked on the driveway. “In fact, what I'd been going to say is... I know that... even if I don't owe you an explanation, you... definitely deserve one, and... That's what I'm going to give you. While you're driving, I... I'll explain everything to you and... uh... you can make what you want of it.”

“You don't have...”

“I do,” Will declares, leaving me to walk around to the passenger's side of the car. “Given that I should have actually explained things to you... before... all of this, it... It's now something that I feel as though I have to do. So... As this is a non-negotiable offer, you're going to listen whether you want to or not.”

Pleased that Will's finally starting to show a few small signs of the stubbornness I've grown used to from him, I nod and, after unlocking the car and opening the door, climb in behind the steering wheel. “So long as you know you don't have to,” I murmur once Will has joined me in the Mercedes and is pulling his seatbelt on. “I'll listen if you really do want to talk, of course I will, but, please, if it's too difficult for you, or... too soon, don't think that you have to, as...”

“As it has to be done at some point, I... I want to,” Will replies flatly. “It's overdue, I owe it to you, and... and I want you to know... Uh... That is, I think you... deserve... to know.”

“Then...” Putting the key in the ignition, I put the car into gear and reverse it out on to the street. “Once you've given me your address, just... Talk. Tell me as much or as little as you want to.”

“Again, seeing as it's long overdue, you're going to get it from the very beginning,” Will responds with a sigh as he rests his head back against the headrest. He then, once he's given me his address, sighs again, closes his eyes, and, in a quiet voice, finally begins to share his story with me.

“I don't know if you ever knew an agent by the name of Paul Taylor, but we went through training at the same time and, after a few years of finding our footing in IMF, eventually ended up on the same team together. He was two years older than I was, and it just has to be said that on the face of it we had very little in common, but... I don't know. For some reason we just really hit it off anyway and became friends. Uh... Close friends, actually. In fact... Paul was easily the best friend I'd ever had and to this day I count myself lucky for having had him in my life for twelve years. Now... What I said about not having a lot in common with Paul? That, you could probably say was something of an understatement. I was an only child who'd pretty much just coasted through life, while he'd had to make sacrifices that, to be honest, when we first met I could hardly get my head around. You see, when Paul was nineteen his mother, much to everyone's great surprise, fell pregnant and while, seeing as he was off at college by this stage, this shouldn't really have had much impact on his life, his father was killed in an horrific car crash just before she was due to give birth. Knowing that his mother would need help with the baby, Paul changed to a local college and came home. He also became a father-figure to Anthony, his baby brother and, for three years, life just went on as best as they could make it. Then...” Trailing off, Will opens his eyes and sits up a little straighter.

“He was twenty-two when his mother was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer,” he continues dully, “and just twenty-three when she succumbed to it. So... There he was, just out of college and effectively the father to an orphaned four year old. Feeling as though it was what he had to do, he never begrudged giving up his career to look after Anthony and, for three years, that's just what he did. He raised his brother on his own until, realising that he wanted to give the boy more of a life than the safe and boring one they had in Boston, he decided to pack up and move to D.C. where they had an aunt who was willing to look after Anthony while Paul, at long last, pursued an actual career. It was then, obviously, that he joined the IMF. Like I said, we met during training and, for the next twelve years, were the best of friends. I knew from the moment that we met that Anthony was the most important person in the world to him and that never, ever changed. It... It didn't matter what Anthony did as Paul would always be there for him, and he'd always forgive him...”

“Forgive him?” I query, my degree of fascination with Will's – long overdue – tale being so great that I can't help but interrupt in my desire to get as big a picture from it as I possibly can. While, yes, I knew of an agent by the name of Paul Taylor in passing, and part of me even dimly recalls having worked a joint mission with the team he was a part of while still a rookie, I certainly didn't know that he'd basically raised his younger brother on his own before joining IMF and can't help but admire him for his obvious dedication to his family. What it's all got to do with Will though is anyone's guess. I mean, I think he mentioned that the name of the man who'd killed himself in his house was Anthony, but... Even if... that... Anthony was Paul's younger brother, just... What was he doing living with Will?

“Anthony, he...” Glancing over me as I bring the car to a smooth stop at a red light, Will sighs again and gives a small shrug. “Perhaps, I don't know, perhaps it was all just inevitable. I mean... Think about it. His father died before he was born, his mother, after enduring a terrible twelve months of chemotherapy and being in and out of hospital, died when he was four, he was essentially raised by his older brother who he most likely viewed as his father, and then, when he was seven, he was taken away from the house and everything else he'd always known and had to make a new life for himself in D.C.. Paul did what he could. Hell, I honestly think he went above and beyond in everything that he did to ensure his brother had the best life possible, but... Anthony, he still went off the rails, you know. The aunt he stayed with whenever Paul was out in the field was an older woman who, although she loved him and had the best intentions, couldn't control him and, knowing that he could run rings around her, by the time he was in his early teens he just did whatever the hell he wanted. Drugs, alcohol, petty crime. Paul, as you can imagine, was at his wits end and was even contemplating leaving IMF to devote more time to him when, in desperation, he took him to a psychiatrist who actually diagnosed him with a mental illness. At first it was schizophrenia, then it was bipolar affective disorder, before, eventually, the team of psychiatrists that were attempting to manage him by this stage settled on a diagnosis of schizo-affective disorder. Uh... Treatment resistant schizo-affective disorder, at that.”

“Making him... dependent... on the care of others,” I murmur as a picture, not a particularly appealing one, however, begins to form in my mind.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Will replies, rubbing his hands absent-mindedly along his denim-clad thighs. “Paul continued to do everything that he could, of course, from making sure Anthony went to his appointments and took his meds and all that, but Anthony... He hated taking his prescribed medication because he claimed to not like how they made him feel and preferred to, well, take just about anything else that he could get his hands on. He was, and I suspect this goes without saying, a complete and utter mess that was always in and out of psych wards and, from the way Paul used to talk about him, it was clear that he was going to take a lot of careful monitoring for a lot of years to come. Then... Oh God...” His voice catching in his throat, Will makes an odd sort of whimpering noise and shakes his head. “Paul, he...”

It suddenly dawning on me just why it is the name Paul Taylor seemed vaguely familiar to me when I first heard it, I now know for certain what's coming and, wanting to do what little I can for Will, take my hand momentarily off the gear stick to give his knee a light, reassuring touch. “It's okay. Like I said earlier, you don't have to...”

“It was during a mission,” Will murmurs quietly as, glancing down at my hand, he just pushes on with his tale as though I hadn't even opened my mouth. “Just a... run of the mill mission. The risk factor was deemed to be low, and we were confident that we had everything covered, but... Paul, he... There was a sniper. The cartel had never been known to use snipers before, but... This time... This time they did, and Paul...”

“It's okay,” I repeat, even though it's really, really not okay at all. “Will... I know... I remember now...”

“I... I took the shooter out, but...” Breathing deeply, Will tilts his head back against the seat and blinks back tears. “It was too late and Paul, he... He bled out in my arms. There was nothing I could do! I begged him to stay with me, but... The blood loss, it was just too great, and Paul, all he could think about was Anthony. I told him not to talk, to save his energy, but...”

“His brother having always been his number one priority, he made you promise to look after him...”

“No...” Sitting up, Will shakes his head and, as I tear my attention away from the traffic to quickly glance at him, gives me a sad look. “I... I opened my mouth without thinking and... voluntarily... promised to look after him. I was already the executor of Paul's will and knew that Anthony would be drawing an allowance from his estate until it all went to him at twenty-five, and I... When I realised that he was dying, that... that there wasn't a single fucking thing I could do to save him, I... I just wanted him to know that he didn't have to worry about his brother, that I'd be there for him like he always had. I did it instinctively, and I honestly think, given that he died barely moments after I said it, that he took comfort from it.”

“And... That's how you became guardian to a...”

“De-facto guardian,” he corrects with a shrug. “Anthony was nineteen, so he didn't need a formal guardian, but... In a manner of speaking, yes, at the age of thirty-six I became a... de-facto big brother to a young man with a terrible mental illness and now... Now he's dead. I did everything that I could for him but... but clearly it wasn't enough.”

“Will, you can't blame...”

“It was more or less okay at first,” Will murmurs, once again talking all over the top of me in, I suspect, his haste to just get to the end of his tale. “Even though the shock of his brother's death hit him hard, he managed to keep it together somehow. The aunt having moved into a nursing home the year before, he kept up the rent and maintenance on the small apartment Paul and I had, back then, helped him move into, and he also kept up both his meds and attendance at art class. I think, although it was obviously difficult for him, he did what he could to keep himself together for Paul, and for all the love, trust and faith he'd shown in him over the years. Having scaled back my field work, I saw him at least once a week when in town, and I was proud of him, you know. Then...”

“He had a relapse?”

“That's... one way of putting it. Maybe it was the inevitable break down over the loss of his brother, or maybe it was just the insidious hold his mental illness had over him, but after nine months of fighting so hard to keep it together, he... He just lost it. He stopped taking his prescription meds and started abusing anything else that he could get a hold of. This, in turn, led him to both dropping out of college and, as all his money was going on drugs and alcohol, losing his accommodation, and... Ethan, what else could I do, huh? I had to step in. I'd promised Paul that I would look after his brother and, although it meant making some pretty drastic changes to my own life, it was just what I had to do. I... Knowing that I had to keep a better watch over him, I gave up field work and became an analyst so that I could stay in D.C. and, because he needed somewhere to live, I had him move in with me.”

“You... put your own life on hold for his...”

“Again, that's one way of putting it,” Will replies as, this clearly taking it out of him, he wearily rubs his hands over his face. “To me though, just as it was making the promise to Paul in the first place, it... It was just what I had to do. Anthony needed both help and somewhere to live, and... It wasn't even something I had to think about.”

“So, Anthony, he was the reason behind...”

“Everything. Anthony, from the moment he moved in fourteen months ago, has been the reason behind... everything. I couldn't, even though you've got to believe me when I say that I'd wanted to, accept your invitation to join the team because I knew he was in no fit state to be left on his own, and... nor could I... uh... embrace your friendship like I wanted to because... Well, not only did he suffer from a form of paranoia when he was unwell that saw him viewing anyone I so much as talked to as... competition for my attention, but I... I didn't want to burden you with the... mess that was my life.”

“So...” Not wanting to launch into a lecture about how, if I'd known the truth, I certainly wouldn't have felt burdened by it and would have just tried to do anything that I could have to help, I sigh and, with great restraint, murmur, “You shouldered the full responsibility of your friend's mentally unwell brother and... let him take over your entire life.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Will replies plainly. “I thought that, by constantly being there for him, I could help protect him from his demons. He... He was so young! And on the odd occassions he had enough insight to be compliant with his medication he was just a slightly offbeat young man with a quirky sense of humour and quite a prodigious talent for just about everything artistic. I... When he was medicated, I liked him. It... It's just that the bad times far outweighed the good and, as it seems pretty damn clear now, I... I wasn't enough. I tried. You have no idea how hard I tried to give Anthony everything he needed from me, but... What he did. Killing himself. He... He hadn't even tried to take his life before, and things, they hadn't been any worse than normal, and I... Ethan, I don't know what I missed! There must have been...”

“Hey... Stop it,” I interject. “You're not to blame yourself for Anthony's death. Sure, it might be easy for me to say as I... haven't lived the life you have for the past fourteen months, but... Will... You've got to listen to me here. His death is a tragedy, and, despite never having met him, I'm sorry that he took his own life, but it... none of it is your fault. You gave him all that you could and... What happened is just one of those awful, awful things that perhaps no one could have stopped. He might have been planning it for months or, who knows, it may have just been one of those spur of the moment things that he acted on without even fully thinking it through. Whatever it was though, it wasn't your fault and you can't, you just... can't, blame yourself for it.”

“He lived with me for over a year and I was on first name basis with all of his psychiatrists and social workers, I... I should have seen the signs! I mean, I knew he was in a manic phase, but he seemed almost happy. He had his art, and he'd been keeping all appointments, and I...”

“You weren't to know,” I state in a soft yet adamant tone as, having reached the address Will gave me, I turn into the driveway and bring the car to a stop behind his black Audi. “You've said yourself that he was mentally unwell, and people who are mentally unwell can be unpredictable. What Anthony did was out of your control. Short of watching him twenty four hours a day, if he wanted to take his own life then... he was going to find a way to do it. And... You also said that he was keeping his appointments, so it's not as though any of the professionals involved in his care saw it coming either, so... Yes, it's sad, and, yes, it's a terrible shock, but what it isn't is your fault and... And convincing yourself that it is isn't going to achieve anything and, deep down, you know this in yourself as well as I do. So...”

“I don't even know where he got the gun from,” Will murmurs, staring out the windscreen at – the scene of the crime – his neatly maintained two storey house with an odd, almost expressionless look on his pale face. “It wasn't, before you ask, one of mine as, just as I showed the police, they were all safely locked in my bedroom. So... I... I don't know if he'd gone out yesterday and got it from somewhere, or whether he'd had it for ages and had just been waiting for the... uh... right time to do it...”

“And maybe you'll never know,” I reply, pulling the key out of the ignition and, so as to save Will from wasting his breath on telling me that he's fine to go inside by himself, both opening the door and climbing out of the car. Everything he's just told me making close to perfect sense, not to mention offering a clear and concise explanation for all – from the random black eye to his constant need to head home – of his odd, to me, anyway, behaviour, I now feel as though I have all the answers I'd been so desperate to get from him, and that, basically, I just have to take everything at face value and not make a big deal out of it. Although it's all new to me, to Will it's simply been his life, all, really, that he's known, and it's not my place to bombard him with questions about it. I can, and I'm going to whether he's all that welcoming of it or not, try to help him move forward, but what I can't do, what I've got to remember above everything else, is come at him from the lofty position of a casual, opinionated observer. Simply put, it just wouldn't be fair. Just because I know the truth now doesn't mean I can do anything about the past, so...

Onwards and upwards and all that.

“Come on, then,” I add, leaning back in to the Mercedes and, as Will gazes at me impassively, flashing him an encouraging, possibly even overly cheery looking smile. “We're here now, so we may as well just head in to the house.”

“You...” Sighing, Will gets out of the car and, after closing the door, straightens himself up to his full height and fixes me with a weary look over the roof. “Ethan... You've been nothing but kind to me and, believe it or not, I'm actually glad that... albeit far too late... you know the truth about things now, but... Seriously. You've already done more than enough for me and I don't want to impose on you any longer. I... I'll be fine...”

“Not wanting to get into a debate with you over the definition of 'fine' and how, I suspect, you're not really fine at all,” I reply, shutting the car door with my hip before, without so much as a glance over my shoulder, I begin to walk across the still wet lawn towards the house, “how about I just tell you that I have no intention of taking no for an answer and that... I'll just be here by the door waiting for you to let me in.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you're a stubborn bastard,” Will mutters under his breath as, either knowing when he's beaten or, failing that, simply not having it in him to fight, he slowly makes his way over to where I'm standing by the front door. “Ethan... Please. I really am grateful for everything you've done for me, but you... You don't need to do this. I have everything that I need here to start making all the arrangements I...”

“Seeing as you clearly didn't have them with you last night,” I interrupt, gesturing airily at the door as – quite possibly ruing his decision to let me drive him home as opposed to just having caught a cab – Will gives a small huff of annoyance at the way I just cut him off, “I'd been going to ask if you had a spare key stashed somewhere, but looking at the keypad here I can see that you don't even need one.”

“Anthony was always losing his keys, so...” Shrugging, he pushes past me and enters his code into the pad. “Getting one of these was just easier. Now...” Closing his hand around the handle, he hesitates over opening the door and, with yet another sigh, gives me an oddly apprehensive look. “I know you mean well, and although I'm not showing it I really am appreciative of your company, but... This is your last chance to... uh... keep your innocence in respect to just how... bad things really were when Anthony wasn't well.”

“My... innocence isn't even in play here,” I reply, placing my hand on Will's shoulder and, although he tenses a little at my touch, giving it a gentle squeeze. “While I'm at it, nor am I standing on your doorstep and breathing over your shoulder solely because I'm wanting my curiosity sated once and for all. Will... I'm here, because it's where I want to be, and I'm here for you. Did you get that? I'm only here because I think you'd benefit from having some company. If, however...”

“Just... Don't say I didn't offer you fair warning,” Will whispers as he shrugs off my hand and slowly pushes open the door. “Uh... Needless to say Anthony's version of interior design was... yet another... factor... in why I was never able to invite you around,” he adds quietly. “But... Before you see it for yourself, I just want to say this... Okay. Fine. Perhaps I let him go too far. Perhaps I should even be angry about it. But, to me, it was preferable to the alternative. When he was painting or creating his art, he was not only as happy as he seemed capable of getting, but I also knew where he was and, again, compared to the alternative of not knowing where he was or what he was getting up to, it... This... This just seemed a small price to pay.”

“This?” I prompt as, feeling completely clueless as to what Will appears to be getting at here, I wait impatiently for him to either get out of the way or step inside so that I can follow him in. Although I'd only wanted to come inside with him because I don't happen to think he should be left on his own, I'm now curious as to what it is I'm going to see when he finally lets me in and just want to get it over and done with. “I hope your realise I have no idea...”

“And I think, once you've seen it, you'll agree that was a good thing.” Holding the door open, Will walks inside and waits until I've joined him in what was most likely once a large, airy living room before letting it gently close behind him and, as a faint blush flares on his cheeks, just looking at me expectantly. “Well. There you have it. Welcome to my home.”

His...

… Home?

Dear God. I don't want to stare. I... so... don't want to stare as I know it will only make him feel bad... or ashamed... or hurt, but I...

I can't... not... stare.

I just can't.

It's like nothing I've ever seen before.

Actually, no. I lie. I have seen... designs... similar to the ones painted all over the walls of the front room of Will's house before, but they've all been in either abandoned warehouses or grotty, crumbling underpasses.

It...

It looks, not to put a too fine a point on it or anything, like a squat inhabited by the drug addled offspring of Picasso and Salvador Dali. All the furniture, bar a sideboard against the wall nearest the door, is broken and, unless I'm mistaken, seems to be piled up in the centre of room like some sort of attempt at either a pyre or a sculpture of some description. The carpet, what's left of it, that is, has random, spiral-like designs gouged in it, and the walls...

The walls are just something else again.

I know Will said that Anthony was an artist, and I know that he thought letting him do... this... was preferable to him roaming the streets, but...

Shit.

Granted, it's certainly more artistic than most graffiti-style art scrawled on walls, and, okay, I can even recognise the odd – telephone booth, double decker bus, what could even be Big Ben – shape amongst the hectic, obsessive mess of black and red splashes of paint that stretch from floor to ceiling, but...

Inside?

And...

… Everywhere?

“I...” Shaking off some of my shock, I step closer to Will as he stands by the sideboard trailing his fingers aimlessly along its smooth wooden top and smile blankly. “Uh... Looks can certainly be deceiving,” I comment in a neutral tone. “I mean... Uh... From the outside it...”

“Looks perfectly normal,” Will finishes, glancing at me out of the corner of his eyes as he scoops up his keys, wallet and phone from the top of the sideboard and busies himself with shoving them in various pockets of his jeans. “You don't have to say it as... I know,” he adds both softly and with evident sadness. “The same though could have been said about Anthony. He... He looked normal on the outside, but... but on the inside he was in turmoil. Ethan... I know this looks bad, like I'd either given up or was beaten down by him, but Anthony... This...” Pausing, he gestures around the room. “Doing stuff like this was what made him happy, and... Walls, houses even, they can all be repaired, so I...”

“Let him do what it was that made him happy. I get it. Or... At least I think I do. I just...”

“Never expected it?”

“Well, no. I can't say that I did.”

“An hour ago though, did you ever expect me to... finally come clean about living with and... trying to look after... a twenty-one year old schizophrenic?”

“Er... No. I can't say I saw that coming either.”

“Well, you know it now,” Will states with no hint of emotion whatsoever in his voice as he all too briefly holds my gaze for a couple of seconds before shrugging and looking away. “In fact, you now pretty much know all of it, so...”

“What I also happen to know is that it's freakin' freezing in here,” I mutter, looking around the room and trying to find the heating controls amongst the black and red mess spread across the walls. “Given how... busy... Anthony clearly was, I can understand how he was able to keep warm, but...”

“He thought the controls were bugged,” Will interjects as he walks further into the room and points to a mangled looking control panel that's both disguised by the red paint covering it and hanging half off the wall. “He thought they were spying on him and... reacted by destroying not only every panel but also the heating system itself. He also, and I'm only telling you this to negate the need to take you on the full tour, boarded up most of the back windows for reasons known only to the voices in his head and, yes, the... artwork... does encompass most of the house. He... This last relapse, it... it was the worst I'd ever known him, but as I've already said, having him here, no doubt in your eyes... trashing the place... was still preferable to him hanging out in the streets with dealers and the like, so I... I just had to accept it.”

Biting my tongue from issuing forth with the first response – 'so I can see' – that pops in to my head, I merely nod and, as the sheer destruction of Will's house starts to depress me in a far greater way than learning of the suicide of his friend's brother did, quickly reach the decision that there's just no way I can let him stay here. I know it's his home, and that he'd be perfectly safe here, but I just can't, not in good conscience anyway, leave him on his own in this... mess. Anthony's death may be of far greater importance to him, but, to be blunt here, that in a sense is already history now while this, the state of his house, is still very much an ongoing concern and the thought of just leaving him to rattle around in it while everything is so fresh and raw...

I just can't do it.

“Will...” Here goes nothing, strike while the iron's hot and all that. “At the risk of coming across as though I'm wanting to take you over, which, just so you know, I'm not, I... I don't think you should stay here and want you to come back to my place.”

“I know it looks like it should have a condemned sign out the front, but this is my home,” Will replies somewhat predictably as, resting his butt against the front of the sideboard, he looks over at me and frowns. “I thank you for your offer, but...”

“Offer? Oh. Did that come across as an offer? Sorry. I meant it more as a statement of fact,” I retort in a light, facetious tone even though I'm actually completely serious. “You can't stay here. I know it's your home, but it's freezing in here and...”

“For what it's worth I actually have a portable heater in my room and can give you my word that I'm not going to freeze to death,” he interjects. “But... Ethan... Thank you. Your offer really is very kind and thoughtful, but I just can't take you up on it And before you say anything, the reason I'm having to decline is because I have so much to do. I have to go check in at the police station, I have to go and see both Anthony's doctor and his aunt to tell them what's happened, and, once all that is out of the way I have to start making arrangements for his funeral. So, you see...”

“Oh!” Feigning a look of surprise, I laugh and shake my head. “You thought I meant I wanted you to come back home with me... now,” I state, “when, really, what I'm trying, badly, as it happens, to get across to you is that I can't let you sleep here. As to how you want to fill your daylight hours, well... That's up to you. Come this evening though I want you back, preferably with some sort of take-away... your choice, because I'm magnanimous like that... for dinner, at my place, because, and I'm actually being serious now, I just don't want you being here on your own. I know it's your home, but... Look around you, Will, and answer me this honestly... Do you... really... want to come back to this tonight?”

“I...” Lowering his head so as to avoid meeting my gaze, Will jams his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I know it's more half a star than five star, but it's still my...”

“Don't try to avoid the question. Seeing as I've given, freely, I might add, you a choice, is this where you want to sleep tonight?”

“I don't want to...”

“Say... put you out... and I might just scream.”

“Well, not wanting to tempt fate... or my eardrums... here, that's exactly what I had been...”

“You're not putting me out.”

“I have to...”

“Let's face it, I'm going to be sitting in my house tonight whether you're there or not, so... How is offering you a bed putting me out?”

“Ethan... Please. I appreciate everything you've done for me, but...”

“Actually... You know something?” I murmur, positioning myself directly in front of Will and, as he hesitantly lifts his head to look at me, folding my arms across my chest. “You win. Opening my house to you... is... going to be an imposition because it's going to mean I'll have to clean out all of the junk in the guest room and find somewhere else to stash it. But, hey... That's my look out, not yours. I made the offer, which for some unknown reason you still seem to think was actually negotiable, and I'm standing by it.”

“In that case, fine. I'll come back to your place after I've finished everything that I need to do,” Will, to my great surprise, if not outright disbelief, replies with a casual shrug. “Oh, and... Yes. I'll bring take-away. Expecting you to be exhausted from all your manual labour in the guest room, I may even get a few beers as well.”

“I...”

“What? Don't look so shocked. You clearly weren't going to take no for an answer, so I just gave up. Well, that, and I liked your honesty about being put out by having to make space for me. I mean, I don't want to put you out, of course I don't, but I'd rather you told me the truth than just feeling as though you've got to do whatever it takes to get through to me...” Pausing, Will pulls his hands out of his pockets and begins to walk towards the stairs. “Oh, and like I think I might have said in the car, I'm not a masochist. A doormat, maybe, but I'm not into suffering when I don't have to and, you're right, I don't want to stay here. Hell... I don't even want to be here now. It's cold, oddly empty without Anthony constantly moving around in it, and the thought of going into the kitchen and seeing where he died just makes my skin crawl, so...”

“Let's get out of here,” I state, looking pointedly at the front door as, reaching the bottom of the stairs, Will glances over his shoulder at me. “You've got your keys, phone and wallet, so let's just be on our way already.”

“I need to get a few things from my bedroom,” he replies with a quick shake of his head as he begins to make his way up the stairs, “and, because there's something I'd actually like you to see in there, I'm hoping you might come up with me.”

Mentally crossing my fingers that whatever it is Will's decided he wants to show me can't be any worse than his squat-like living room, I nod by way of reply and follow him up the stairs and onto the landing. The décor on the second floor not being wildly different – unless you view a forest of creepy looking trees painted in a dark grey covering the walls on both sides being a vast improvement on red phone boxes and buses – than it is downstairs, I don't even bother paying it much attention and, almost as though on autopilot, simply trail after Will until he comes to a stop in front of a sturdy looking door complete with its own electronic keypad. 

“This, oddly enough, isn't what I was wanting to show you,” Will mutters, entering his pin into the keypad and, just as he did by the front door, clearly hesitating over pushing it open. “I know it looks like overkill, but...”

“It's okay, you don't have to explain everything,” I interrupt with a somewhat forced smile as, not that I'm ever going to say it, I don't really want to spend any more time in Will's freezing, strangely claustrophobic house than I absolutely have to and just want to get out of here. “I know this is hard for you, and...”

“No secrets,” he interjects. “You know the truth now, and I just want you to have as much of an idea of the bigger picture as I can possibly give you. So... Having a keypad to get into my own bedroom in my own house, it... It was actually as much for Anthony's benefit as it was my own.”

“Really?” I query, the disbelief I'm feeling at this, the thought of Will having to lock himself away in his own room in order to... protect... his mentally unwell house-mate coming through loud and clear in my voice. “Uh... I mean...”

“Not long after I returned home from Mumbai and the whole fun and games that was Cobalt, I woke one night to find him standing over my bed and... Ethan, I honestly, and I'm not talking idle threats shouted in the heat of the moment here, could have killed him. I was still, if you like, in... mission-mode, so to wake up to someone looming over me...”

“You instinct was to protect yourself, perhaps even to lash out...”

“Exactly! For a second I didn't even know where I was and, if he hadn't turned the lamp on when he did so that I could recognise him, I probably would have had him both on the floor and with a gun pressed against his temple before I even knew it. It... It was just a wake-up call, you know... I couldn't, regardless of the fact I think he was simply wanting to reassure himself that I was safely back home, just have him creeping around my room while I slept.”

“So you went for the keypad.”

“I'd been thinking about it anyway, as I have some things, not many, but a few family things that I'd been keeping in my room that I didn't want to see being hocked for drugs, and... After that night I just knew the time for thinking was over and that I had to go ahead with it. While I might have been able to cope with the loss of my grandfather's mantle clock, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I'd harmed Anthony, and... if he found the keypad offensive or a slap in the face or whatever, he never said anything.”

“Perhaps he even saw the sense in it himself,” I reply, taking matters into my own hands and gently pushing the door open with my shoulder. “Now... How about moving on to what it was you actually wanted to show me, yeah...”

Nodding, Will walks into the room in front of me and, coming to a stop in front of the bed, points to a large framed painting on the wall above it. Expertly painted in various tones of blues and green, the picture, thanks to its focal point being the commercial skyscraper known throughout the world as the 'Gherkin', is both instantly recognisable as being of London while, at the same time, looking quite unlike a London you've ever seen before. It is, and keeping in mind here I've never exactly rated myself as much of an art connoisseur, quite breathtakingly beautiful. All the detail, from the skyline right down to the cabs and buses on the road, has the hustle and bustle of London down to perfection, but, because the colour scheme is both far from realistic and quite muted, I find it all to be oddly calming. I also, and, again, this is quite strange for me as I'm usually indifferent – be it good, bad, great, or completely awful – to art, feel as though I could never tire of looking at it.

“This,” he murmurs. “This is what I wanted to show you. Anthony gave it to me last Christmas and, as he both painted it and framed it himself, I wanted you to see that... there was far more to him than just the manic scribble you've seen on the walls. In fact, he was actually incredibly talented and, if it wasn't for... his mind conspiring against him... I'm sure he would have been able to make quite a name for himself in the art world.”

“You're right, he was incredibly talented,” I state, walking around the bed in order to get a closer look at all the exquisitely captured detailed in the painting. “And... Thank you for showing me this as, again, you're right in that I really did need to see it as... Seriously. It's nothing short of truly stunning.”

“I know,” Will whispers as, suddenly looking close to tears, he walks over to the chest-of-drawers and picks up a plain black frame containing a photo of two men. “This is Anthony and Paul,” he adds, holding the frame out towards me and waiting for me to take it. “It was taken not long before Paul was killed and, as luck would have it given what happened, during one of Anthony's... good periods. They... They look happy...” His voice catching in his throat, Will abruptly drops the frame down on to the bed before I can take it from him. “And now they're both dead! It... Damn it! It just isn't fair!”

“Will...”

“Don't. Just... I've got to pack...” Blinking back tears, Will spins on his heels and disappears into the en suite.

Accepting that cornering him in the bathroom when all he wants is a moment alone to pull himself together wouldn't exactly be the way to go, I sink down on the edge of the bed and pick up the frame. Resting it on my lap, I gaze down at the photograph and, despite not knowing the men in it, feel a sense of sadness settling over me. While I vaguely recognise Paul, a tall, broad shouldered man with blond hair and pleasant, boy-next-door good looks, from having seen him around HQ, my eyes are drawn more to his slightly smaller and definitely blonder younger brother and, although I know it's the very embodiment of pointlessness, I search his friendly, good looking face for signs of mental instability, and...

Nothing.

All I see is a happy looking young man standing next to his equally as happy looking older brother as they pose together in what looks to be an airport departure lounge and, it doesn't matter that I never knew them as knowing that they're now dead is still sad.

Sighing, I stand up and, after returning the frame to the chest-of-drawers, lean my back up against the sturdy, antique looking piece of furniture and just gaze around the room. Far more... multi-purpose or bedsit... than it is a standard bedroom, I take in the neatly made bed, carefully stacked cardboard boxes lined up in front of the window, portable heater by the door into the en suite, comfortable looking armchair in the corner that I suspect would have once been in the living room, and...

… All I feel is sad. Sadder, even, than I feel about knowing that the two men in the photograph are both no longer with us.

Although the furniture is of good quality, and everything's as neat as he's been capable of keeping it, the room's both crowded and all too clearly... lived in. Instead of being able to move freely around his own home, Will's effectively been restricting himself to this one room, and I just find the thought of him sitting in here while Anthony did whatever the hell he wanted throughout the rest of the house to be incredibly sad. I can understand his reasons for making all the sacrifices he's made, and I can even make a reluctant sort of peace with the fact that all the decisions he made were his and his alone, but...

… I'm never going to be able to bring myself to like it.

Will's a great guy, and knowing that this is how he's been living, well, it just eats at me.

“If you're going to judge me,” Will murmurs in a small, pained voice as, carrying a small toiletry bag, he walks out of the bathroom and gives me a tired look, “then, please, just get it over and done with. Yes, I put my own life on hold to try to look after my friend's brother, and if that makes me some sort of...”

“I'm not judging you,” I state as, suddenly knowing what it is I have to do, I gently pry the bag out of Will's hand and, after throwing it on to the bed, slide my arms around his waist and, as he instinctively stiffens at the unexpected invasion of his personal space, just hug him to me. “You're... just you, Will, and I would never stand here and think I had the right to pass judgement on anything you've done,” I continue, tightening my arms around him as, with choked sounding sigh, he relaxes against me. “I... I just want to be here for you in any way that I can so, please... Let me help you.”

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Just, FYI (or, alternatively, TMI), I'm all kinds of flat and sulky over Brandt not being in the next movie. :-(

~*~

Sitting up, I blink the clock radio on my bedside table into focus and, as my mind dimly computes the fact that it's just gone three in the morning, throw back the bedding and swing my legs over the edge of the mattress without stopping to think about just what it is I'm doing. Still half asleep, I'm about to get up and head towards both my door and the sounds of movement that woke me on the other side of it when common sense kicks in to stop me and, with a yawn, I sink back down onto the edge of the bed and rub my hands over my face.

It's okay. Despite it being a rare enough occurrence to leave me leaning heavily towards footsteps outside my bedroom door having to mean I've got an intruder, I just have to remember that I've actually got a house guest at the moment and that it appears, for some unknown reason, he's feeling the need to wander around at three in the morning. Instinct, even if it is driven solely by curiosity, whispers in my ear that, regardless of the fact I now know it's only Will moving around, I should still get up and go to him. Let's face it, as he has to be out of bed for a reason... what if he needs something and doesn't know where to find it? Surely, it would be remiss of me as a host if I didn't step in and go to his aid.

Or – and again with the common sense thing here – given that this is Will, who's both well and truly outside of his highly reserved comfort zone and grieving, we're talking about here, perhaps it would just be in everyone's best interests if I simply got back in to bed and left things well enough alone. I wouldn't, after all, want to risk undoing all the hard fought advances we made today by giving him the impression that I was hovering over his every move and that he couldn't feel free to move around as he wanted to.

But...

… What's he doing out of bed?

And...

… What if he's wanting me to join him?

Just...

… Damn.

I can, given my reputation for being someone who always thinks on his feet and who never second guesses himself, acknowledge the ridiculousness of it all I like, but when it comes to William Brandt it's like I hardly ever know what to do. First I dithered over just taking his refusal to join the team at face value. Then I dithered over pursuing him solely as friend. Then, once I'd accepted that, yes, despite the seemingly constant veil of secrecy he wore around himself, I did want him as a friend, I dithered over pressing him on just what is was he was hell bent on keeping from me and, because it was easy than coming up with an alternative that I was happy with, just made my reluctant peace with contenting myself with the status quo. And, now that Will's laid himself all but completely bare before me and I know things about him that I never, not in a million years, would have expected, I'm still dithering.

Take earlier this evening for example. Because I wasn't entirely convinced that Will would keep his promise of coming back to my place after he'd finished all the running around he had to do today, I sat on the sofa, staring at my phone and... dithering... over just what it was I should do. 

Did I... 

Accept that he was an adult who could do whatever the hell he liked, and, if he chose to go back to his derelict excuse for a house in preference to staying with me, then... So be it?

Pick up the phone and, at the risk of coming across as either needy or as though I didn't trust him, ask just when it was I could expect him?

Trace his phone, and just effectively... spy on him?

Phone Luther and, hypothetically, of course, ask his advice on what it was he thought I should do?

Wait another thirty minutes... or an hour... or maybe two, before... running through all my options again in the hope of finally reaching a decision?

It was, and seeing as I can hardly deny it I see no reason to sugar coat it either, quite pathetic of me. There was nothing that I could do to alter the outcome. Will, who with only the slightest of raised eyebrows had allowed me to take his overnight case and suit bag back in my car while he headed off in his, had agreed to come to my place when he'd finished, and, basically, what would be would be.

Telling myself this, and actually believing it though... Well, they were two entirely seperate things. And, to make things worse, until I'd sat down on the sofa, I'd been doing fairly okay on all things... Will-related, too. After I'd reversed out of his driveway and watched, in the rear vision mirror, as he did the same in his Audi, I was even slightly content with how everything had gone. I had, by vague way of a guarantee, his clothing with me, he'd given his word that he'd see me later, and, best of all, I'd gotten him out of what was left of his – creepy – house without too much effort. I also had answers to most of the questions I'd ever had about him and, knowing that I couldn't just sit around all day dwelling on what I now knew about Will, I decided, with no real thought or effort whatsoever, to just head into HQ for a few hours. There, I kept myself busy feigning interest in the goings on of IMF and working out in the gym and, somehow, the time just flew by. I didn't, because I made a very deliberate point of not letting myself get too caught up in everything that I now knew about him, really think about Will at all and just went about my business more or less normally.

Then I came home.

Where I was expecting that Will too would eventually come.

At first, because I'd actually forgotten I had to clear out the guest room, things were just as they'd been at HQ because I had to throw myself into making the room habitable like a man possessed and the time once again just flew by. Then, once it was finally done and I'd retrieved Will's bags from the car and placed them over the freshly made bed so they'd be waiting for him where he'd see them, I got myself a beer, flopped down on the sofa, and...

… That's when the dithering started. The stupid, ultimately pointless and completely pathetic, dithering that only came to an end, not by me reaching an actual decision or anything like that, but when Will – stepped in to save me from myself – sent me a text message.

'I like pineapple on my pizza. If you don't... Speak now or forever hold your peace.' 

It was somewhat blunt and to the point, but as far as text messages go it would have to be one of the best I'd ever received as not only did it mean that Will was definitely coming back, but that he'd also remembered my off-the-cuff request to bring dinner with him. Taking his 'forever hold your peace' comment to heart, I didn't bother replying to his text and, being nothing if not a consummate actor, simply opened the door to him when he arrived and welcomed him in with a bland, non-committal smile. Although he looked tired, he still – and, no, I honestly don't think this was just wishful thinking on my part – appeared reasonably pleased to see me and, having had the dilemma of what to do if he hadn't come back taken so neatly and effortlessly out of my hands, we managed to spend a nice enough evening together. Sure, the conversation was at times stilted and, I think, as I ended up feeling a little ill for a while, that I overdid it on the pizza, but it was still...

Nice.

Nice to have Will with me, and nice knowing that, even if it was solely for logical reasons, he'd chosen to not only seek me out last night, but to also come back tonight.

Perhaps it was because he thought I expected it of him, or, I don't know, perhaps it was simply a form of catharsis, but Will, freely and without me having to ask a single question, filled me on his day while we ate and I like to think that it was good for him. Good to have someone to talk to and who he knew would listen to him. My imagination never having really been geared towards matters of an emotional ilk, I can't fully appreciate what it is Will must be going through and only know that it has to be incredibly hard for him. I can blithely dismiss Anthony as having been nothing more than a – waste of space – heavy weight around Will's neck all I like, but really, that isn't fair of me. I didn't know him, and I have no right to comment on how the mentally unwell behave. Nor do I have any right to judge Will on the sacrifices he made for someone who, at the end of the day, was only his friend's brother.

While I'm not sure I could have done it myself, I still respect him for it. Will put his life on hold for Anthony and now that he's gone he'd have to be feeling... lost. His life is once again his own, he has no reason to rush back home after work every night or worry what the call may be about when his phone rings, and, right now at least, it's probably all just a bit too much. The question mark over why Anthony took his own life, what to do with the state of his house, making all the funeral arrangements, forcing himself to be honest with me, dealing with his grief and – although I truly hope this isn't the case at all – possible guilt. To Will, it must just be like an entirely new world. Or, failing that, one that he may dimly recall having been a part of before Anthony came along and pulled him away from it.

Again though, I just can't imagine everything that must be going through his head at the moment.

Not wanting to make him regret his decision to come back to my place, I showed him to the guest room after we'd eaten and, when he mentioned that he was going to spend the rest of the evening working on Anthony's eulogy, the only reason I insisted he take his laptop into the study was because I couldn't bear the thought of him simply moving from one bedroom to another and wanted him to know that there were other rooms in the house for him to use. Whether it was just to get rid of me or not, Will accepted that the study was as good a place as any to write in and once he was settled with his computer and a cup of coffee I just left him to it. When I went to bed at close to midnight he was still in there, and although a part of me really wanted to tell him to get some sleep I bit my tongue and settled for merely saying goodnight instead. He replied in kind, which I took to be a positive and, pleased enough with how things were going, I think I was asleep within minutes of my head hitting the pillow.

Now though, three hours later, I'm awake and – once again – dithering over what to do about the fact Will is both awake and walking around.

Actually...

… If I'm not mistaken I think, by my reading of the sound of his footsteps, he may have just walked back up the stairs and either sat down at the top of them or is just standing on the landing.

Neither of these options – Sitting? Standing? Why? – really making any degree of sense to me, I decide to both throw caution to the winds and let my curiosity be the victor here and, standing up, make my way quietly over to the door. Opening it, I can just make out in the darkness the shape of Will sitting on the top step and after turning on the light for the landing, simply walk over and lower myself down on to the step next to him. I then, as, blinking in the sudden light, he slowly turns to look at me, drape my arm around his shoulders and, as it just strikes me as the right thing to do, gently pull him against me. Will allows this passively, which makes me think that he might actually have been waiting for me, and, shifting closer, relaxes against me with a soft, contented sigh.

“While I very much doubt anyone's ever said this to you before,” he murmurs, resting his hands on his thighs and stroking his fingers along the blue cotton of his pyjama pants, “you're too quiet.”

“You're right, that's definitely not something I've ever heard before,” I reply as, not wanting to over think things here, I decide to just follow his lead to wherever it might take me.

“Anthony, not that this is going to come as any great surprise to you, was very much of the... nocturnal persuasion, and I could always hear him moving around throughout the night,” Will responds, lifting his left hand and gesturing down the stairs. “Some nights, if I couldn't sleep, I'd get up and sit on the top of the stairs and, if he was working in the living area, just watch him. Some times, if he was fully engrossed in what he was doing, he wouldn't even know I was there, while other times he'd either wave or, if things were going well, come upstairs to talk to me for a bit. Other nights, even if I just stayed in my room I could still hear him. He wasn't particularly loud, and it wasn't as though he played loud music or anything like that, but I could still always hear him, and...” Trailing off, he drops his hand back on to his lap and sighs. “And now I can't. I'm tired, and I want to go to sleep, but the house is too silent and... and the reality that this is how it's going to be from now on is just... getting to me. I mean, in it's own way it's something of a relief, of course it is, but...”

“It's still going to take some getting used to,” I offer, tightening my hand around his upper arm. “Anthony lived with you for close to two years, yeah? That's a long time to have gotten used to someone's habits and the like, and, as everything is still so fresh, it's only natural that you'd...”

“Be freaking out over finding myself in a silent house for a change?” Will mutters. “It's just... I know you probably think I'm being stupid, that... I've... been... stupid throughout this entire sorry mess, but...”

“Hey,” I interrupt, “I don't think you're stupid at all.”

“No?”

“No. I'm not going to sit here and say that I could have done what you did myself, but that doesn't mean that I think you're stupid. In fact, if you must know, knowing what I do now about Anthony and your reasons for needing to stay in D.C., I actually think you're rather incredible.”

“Incredible? I... I just did what I had to do. Anthony needed someone to look after him and I tried... I tried to be there for him like Paul always had been and... And I failed! I thought I was doing enough, but... Oh God... Clearly I was wrong. Clearly I didn't do enough for him at all because, if I had, he'd still be here! Ethan, I...” A strangled gasping sound suddenly slipping past Will's lips, he rests his head down on my chest and, with a resigned shrug, starts to cry. “I let him down. I don't know how, or... even what it is I could have done differently, but I failed! I failed Anthony, and... and I failed Paul as well!

“Hey... Shhh... Come on, Will. You can't blame yourself,” I murmur, reaching across with my free hand to close it around his. “Anthony, he... I know that I didn't know him, but from what you've told me he was mentally unwell and you can't, you just can't, blame yourself for the fact he chose to take his own life. He... Maybe there wasn't anything anyone could have done. Maybe he'd just made up his mind that he'd had enough and that was just that. Whatever his reasons were though, if he even had any, you can't think that any of it was your fault.”

“I...” Sniffing dejectedly, Will clutches his fingers tightly around mine. “I promised Paul that I'd look after his brother and now he's dead. How... How can I not blame myself, huh? I... I took him to appointments, I came home when he didn't want to be on his own, I did what I could to make sure he took his meds, I gave my house over to him to create in, and... it still wasn't enough. Just... What did I miss? He... He didn't even seem particularly down or anything when I went to work that morning, so... What did I miss?”

“I think, even if it takes time, you'll discover that you didn't miss anything,” I reply soothingly as, despite hating seeing Will like this, I know I just have to hang on for the ride and be there for him in his obvious grief in whatever way he'll let me. “Anthony was unwell and... that was just one of those things. Paul tried to help him, doctors and social workers tried to help him, and you... went above and beyond... in your attempts to let him live his life as best he could, but... He was still unwell, and people with mental illnesses, they're... unpredictable.”

“I should have seen...”

“No. You shouldn't have. You're not a doctor and, again, I know I didn't know him, but I bet he was pretty adept at only letting you see what he wanted you to see.”

“It doesn't matter. I should have...”

“What more could you have done, huh? Stayed with him twenty-four-seven? Had him committed? People kill themselves in mental institutions all the time and... Come on, Will. I'm not wanting to make light of what happened or anything like that, but you know as well as I do that if he really wanted to kill himself that there wasn't anything you or anyone else could have done to stop him.”

“It... It's just... I think of my promise to Paul, and...”

“Paul, he was your friend, yeah?”

“Of course he was my friend. We... We were friends for twelve years and he was like a brother to me.”

“Then he'd understand. He'd understand that you'd given your all to his brother and he'd be grateful to you for everything you'd done for him. He wouldn't blame you for this and you know it. I don't want to keep repeating myself, but it really is just was one of those things.”

“Paul always said that it was his greatest fear,” Will mumbles as, breathing deeply, he struggles to get his tears under control.

“That Anthony would take his own life?”

“I could never bring myself to ask if he'd tried before, but... Yes. Paul was afraid that his brother would kill himself. I... I don't know. Maybe I just closed myself off to it even being a possibility. He just seemed... his version ofokay, you know, and knowing that he wasn't, I...” Sniffing, Will sits up straighter and, pulling his hand away from mine, uses the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his eyes. “Sorry,” he adds with a weak smile. “I didn't mean to come so spectacularly undone on you. Uh... That is, again. I didn't mean to come so spectacularly undone on you... again. I thought, not that it apparently pays me to think at the moment, that I was holding it together. I mean, I did everything I'd set out to do today, Anthony's doctors and social workers were all lovely to me, the funeral director seemed like a genuinely nice man who made making all the arrangements seem easier than they should have, you've been nothing but kind and... incredibly accommodating to me, and...”

“It's okay, Will,” I interject as, spotting a stray tear missed sliding down his cheek, I reach out and gently use my thumb to wipe it away. “No-one expects you to be some sort of super hero who is able to just put all of this immediately behind you, and the way you're reacting is perfectly normal. You felt responsible for Anthony, hell, you probably even loved him in some form or another, and now he's gone. Listen to me... You're in mourning, that's all, and you'll get through it.”

“I didn't even carry on this badly when Paul died,” he mutters, giving me a grateful look as he places his hand lightly on my thigh. “Actually... On Paul. I can't shake the feeling that I may have given you the wrong opinion about our friendship. We weren't, in case this is what you were thinking, lovers. I'm not saying that there wasn't a time when I wouldn't have given anything for him to have seen me in that way, but... Well, he was straight and it just wasn't to be. So, no, we weren't lovers. He was, however, was the best friend I'd ever had and, as I said this morning, from the moment we first met, we just clicked.” Pausing, he gazes into my eyes and curls his fingers around the inner seam of my pyjama pants. “I thought, when he died, that I'd never be lucky enough to meet anyone like him again, anyone that... I'd be capable of feeling so comfortable with, but... You. Ethan... With you, and, yes, I'll admit that I tried to fight it, and that I put more effort in to keeping you at arm's length than I probably should have, I feel as though I'm lucky enough to have... someone special in my life again, and...” Closing his eyes, he leans forward and, with no warning whatsoever, settles his lips moistly against mine.

Too shocked by this astonishing turn of events to react any way other than instinctively, I drop my arm down to his waist and, pulling him closer, let myself fall into both the kiss and the moment. Will, who I've been fascinated with ever since I first saw him in that car in Moscow, is kissing me, and...

It's not right.

Not like this.

Sure, I could give into temptation, possibly even give him what it is he thinks he needs, but...

… Not like this.

Breaking the kiss, I lean back and place both my hands on Will's chest. “Will...”

“Shit!” Blushing furiously, Will stares at me through wide eyes for a split second before jumping to his feet and pressing his back up against the wall. “Ethan... Shit! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... It's just, I... I thought you... That is. I thought that's what you wanted,” he stammers, the words falling out of his mouth in a flood. “I thought you were interested in me that way and... Oh God. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry for...”

“I do,” I interrupt as I stand up and flash Will a reassuring smile. “I do want you like that. Of course I do. I think you're all sorts of incredible and, trust me, I don't want to be saying this, hell, I... really... don't want to be saying it, but... Not like this. Not when you're hurting, and not when there's a chance, however small it might be, you could just end up regretting it in the morning. Will...” Walking over to him, I take his hand in mine and, as he continues to stare at me as though transfixed, give it a gentle squeeze. “I want you. Again, of course I do. For now though, as I really do think it'll be better in the long run, what I want more than anything is to just be here for you in a way that... takes things slowly...”

~*~

Walking out of the conference room, I turn to the left and – just as I would have felt safe betting my life on, actually – am immediately stopped by a hand grabbing my shoulder.

“Hate to break this to you, Ethan, but you're going the wrong way,” Benji announces, flashing me a lopsided grin as I spin around to face him. “The car's waiting for us out the front, remember.”

“I know the car's waiting for us out the front,” I reply with as much patience as I can muster as, shaking off Benji's hand, I look pointedly along the corridor. “There's just something I've got to do first. So... You three go on, and I'll meet you there when I'm done.”

“You heard the Secretary,” Jane interjects, folding her arms across her chest and giving me a look that can be best described as... suspicious. “Wheels up in forty-five, and going on the expression on his face as he was bringing us up to speed on the mission, I kind of got the impression that he may just blow a fuse or two if we're not on that plane.”

“I didn't say I wasn't going to be on the plane,” I mutter, making no attempt to disguise the fact that this really isn't a conversation I want to be having. “Nor did I say I wasn't going to meet you out the front. I just have something to do first, that's all, and the sooner you all stop interfering, the sooner...”

“What is it that you have to do, anyway?” Benji interjects as, his natural curiosity finally getting the better of him, he shares a look with Jane and shrugs. “The Secretary was pretty clear that we're operating to a timetable here, so...”

“Fine! You win!” I declare, shooting both Jane and Benji an annoyed look as David, the latest lucky individual to take up the fourth spot in the team, leans casually against the wall and feigns fascination with his iPhone. What he's thinking of our bickering – before the mission has even started, no more and no less – is anyone's guess and, to be perfectly frank, I just don't care anyway. Like the others that have passed through our ranks, he looks good enough on paper and seeing as he too, just like all the others before him, will only be our problem for the coming mission before being shifted on, I just really just don't care at all. I appreciate that it's the wrong attitude to have, and for all I know he's a perfectly lovely man with skills that would make him an asset to any team, but he's not Will, and that, really, is pretty much where my interest in him ends. “If you must know,” I add, “and clearly you feel as though you do, I've got to go and see Will before we leave. So... Happy now?

“Will?” Benji echoes, his expression changing to one of obvious surprise as he shares another look with an equally as surprised looking Jane. “As in... our... Will?”

Our Will.

Quickly quashing the desire to smile at Benji's odd – yet I like to think strangely apt – use of words, I nod. “Yes. I need to see... our Will.”

“But... Why?” Benji's mind clearly struggling to compute just why it is I'm needing to see Will, he shakes his head and sighs. “Even if by some miracle he suddenly decided that he finally wanted to join us, the Secretary's already made... uh... What's-his-face... over there...” Trailing off, he glances over at David and gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. No offence.”

“None taken,” David mutters as, shrugging, he doesn't even bother to glance up from his phone.

“Now... Where was I?” Benji continues, frowning with concentration as, David already forgotten about, he turns back to face me. “That's right! Why do you want to go and ask Will about joining the team now, huh? Not, incidentally, that I think he'd say yes, anyway, but we've got our fourth, and...”

“I'm not going to ask him to join the team,” I interrupt with just a slightly over the top sigh of long sufferance. “Not that it's really any of your business, but I'd been going to have lunch with him and I need to tell him that I'm not going to be able to make it. Now... That's if it's okay with you two, of course.”

“Seeing as time is of the essence here,” Jane pipes up, gesturing at her watch, “why don't you just phone him from the car? It's not as though he's not aware of...”

“Because I want to tell him in person,” I state as, having had enough of this round of fifty-questions, I turn around and start to walk along the corridor. “Just... Give me ten minutes and I'll meet you out the front.”

“But...”

Not waiting around to hear whatever Benji's protest had been going to be, I quicken my steps and, not wanting to waste time waiting for an elevator, make my way into the stairwell. Crossing my fingers that I'll find Will in his sixth floor office, I take the stairs two at a time and try not to dwell on the fact that I don't really want to be having to leave D.C.. The Syndicate having raised its ugly head again though, I know it's not a mission that I can turn my back on and that I just have to suck it up. 

Suck it up, give it my all, and hope that Will continues to be able to move forward in my absence. 

It's not that I'm arrogant, or perhaps even delusional enough to credit myself with having done all that much for Will these past six days. Having coped with Anthony on his own for close to two years, I know how self-reliant Will is and that, if he hadn't found himself with nowhere else to go that night, he still would have managed to make it through on his own. It's just how he operates. He took on Anthony's care without assistance, and he kept the troubles he was having from everyone, and I have no doubt that he would have been able to push through his death on his own as well. The fact that he found himself stuck with me though, well, I like to think it helped in some small way at least. I also like to think he now knows, and hopefully even takes comfort from, that, if it's what he wants from me, I can be a replacement for... Paul... for him.

I can be his friend. I can always be there for him. I can be a non-judgemental shoulder to cry on and, hopefully, a voice of reason when it's all too much for him. And, if it's what he wants, what he truly wants, I'd be more than willing to offer him anything else he felt he either wanted or needed from me.

In fact, there isn't anything that I wouldn't do for him, or, for that matter, give to him.

Will's always fascinated me. From his refusal to accept my offer to join the team, to the way he used to behave around me when I made a point of just materialising in his life whenever I was in D.C., and all the way to knowing him as I do now, he just...

… Gets to me.

I know most of his secrets now, and I think I understand how his mind operates, but instead of being satisfied by this, instead of... losing interest in him now that I know him so well, I...

… Want more.

I want to be with him. I want him to come on to me again, not because he's feeling lost and needy, but because he genuinely wants me in the same way I want him. I know I was right to knock him back the other night, but what I don't want is for him to never try again. I want to be the one to fill the void left in his life by Anthony's death and I want, perhaps even most of all, to give him a reason to smile.

What I don't, however, want is what I've got, and that's a – drop everything and leave now – mission. I'll do it, because I know that I have to, and, needing positives where I can get them, I can be grateful for the fact the Secretary actually handed it down today, because if he'd presented it to me yesterday, I...

… Would have had to have declined. 

Having worked the Syndicate before, I know that I'm the go-to, lead agent for all missions relating to their operations. I have contacts, well established aliases, and if need be I could deliver lectures on their goings on without even having to refresh myself on their latest intel first. I also, because I'm geared towards high stakes, high pressure missions, enjoy working the Syndicate and like to think that one day I might even be personally responsible for putting them out of business once and for all.

If the mission had come up yesterday though, while it would have been hard for me to either say no or to ask for a twenty-four hour delay, I would have had to have found a way to do so anyway as...

… It was the day of Anthony's funeral.

Having spent the better part of the week telling myself that if Will wanted me to go with him then all he had to do was speak up, I hadn't been planning to go to it. I didn't know the man and, again, if Will had any wish for me to be there by his side during the service then all he had to do was mention it. As he hadn't said a word about it though, and I didn't want to give him the impression that I was wanting to barge my way in where I wasn't invited, I was all prepared to just let it go. I knew all about it, because Will had told me – how hard his eulogy had been to write, what time he was picking up their aunt from the home, how the whole ceremony was going to be conducted over the grave – but as he'd never, not once, said anything about wanting company, I certainly wasn't going to mention it myself.

I wasn't.

Then...

When I came downstairs yesterday and saw him, I...

… Didn't even waste my breath on mentioning it and just grabbed my keys.

Dressed in a black suit worn under a truly gorgeous dark charcoal, mid length wool coat, he was just sitting, pale and empty, on the sofa, and...

What else could I do?

He hardly looked in a fit state to be behind a wheel, let alone to be having to play the role of chauffeur to an elderly woman and, I'll admit, I just took over. I got my keys, pulled on my own coat, and just held my hand out to him until he took it. Neither of us spoke. I didn't bother pretending that it was simply an offer, something he had the right to refuse, and Will didn't pretend that he was anything other than grateful for my intervention. At first, I thought I'd content myself with simply offering my services as a driver and that I'd just sit in the car during the service. One look at Will's face after I'd finished helping the old lady out of the car quickly put paid to that idea though and, once again without a single word being spoken on the subject, I locked the doors, took his gloved hand in mine, and found myself attending a funeral for someone I'd never even met.

Although, not that I'd really thought about it in any great detail, I'd half expected Anthony's service to be a small, sombre affair, to my surprise about thirty people turned up to pay their last respects and being there to see how relieved Will looked to see them was just worth it in itself. Most of the mourners were young and somewhat scruffy looking, and, okay, I suspect they all had their own problems with either mental illness or drugs, but they'd still made the effort to come out to farewell their friend and it shocked me just how pleased I was to see them there. To me, in the most basic of terms, Anthony was someone who'd taken over Will's life, ruined his house, and left him a broken mess, so to see that he'd been... more... than that was actually good for me. He'd had friends, all of which shuffled up to Will after the service and, one by one, hugged him or told him how much he'd meant to Anthony, and he had doctors and social workers who's actually cared about him. As sad as it was, I was also glad to have been there to listen to Will's carefully worded and beautifully spoken eulogy. I even held the aunt's hand during it and hope, as she was a lovely old lady, that she found my presence to be a small source of comfort.

But most of all, I'm glad that I was there when one of Anthony's social workers came up to Will and handed him an A4 envelope that had only arrived this morning. Addressed to Will himself in Anthony's hand writing, but sent care of the social work department of his mental health team, it was postmarked the day he'd died and, without even having to open it, everyone knew that it had to contain some sort of suicide note. If it had been me, I would have ripped open the envelope then and there but Will, having far more patience than I do, simply thanked the social worker and slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat.

Where it stayed, not just throughout the small wake and drive back to the aunt's nursing home, but until, with cups of coffee on the coffee-table in front of us, we were sitting, side by side, on the sofa in my living room. Feeling as though I needed to leave Will to open it in private, I'd told him that I was happy to drink my coffee in the kitchen, but he'd just shaken his head, and, with his hand around mine, led me over to the sofa.

And, just as I'm glad that I found myself at the funeral, I'm also glad that I was next to Will when he pulled what he did out of the envelope.

It was a drawing, although to just call it that hardly does it justice at all.

Drawn exquisitely in pencil on a piece of good quality parchment and with Anthony's talent shining through in every tiny detail, it...

… Was as sad as it was perfect. 

Perfect in its execution, and perfect in what it was saying.

Will, wearing a dark suit, complete with a neatly buttoned up white shirt and a striped tie, stood in the middle of the page, and the skill that had gone into drawing him meant that you knew immediately who it was the second you laid eyes on it. Hell, it was so good that it wasn't just his likeness, it... was... Will. With his head slightly tilted back and his face turned a little to the left, he was smiling as he watched a balloon slip from his outstretched hand and float up to meet three other balloons jostling together at the top of the page.

And, on each balloon there was drawn a photograph – complete with tape – attached to it. Of the three that were close together, I could recognise a photo of Paul, smiling and waving to the camera in front of the statue of Eros at Piccadilly Circus in London, on one of the balloons, and although the other two held photos of a man and a woman who weren't familiar to me, I quickly decided that they had to be Paul and Anthony's parents as the man possessed a distinct similarity to the two brothers. 

And...

On the first balloon, the one that had just slipped from Will's fingers, was a photograph of Anthony. Just like his brother, he was both standing by the statue of Eros and smiling brightly and, even if it hadn't been incredibly clear what the illustration was implying, just to the right of Will, written in a firm, bold hand, were the words...

Be Free.

It...

It was just perfect.

Be free from illness, from medication and drugs, from the voices and the depression.

Be free to rejoin your family, from the father you never knew to the brother who loved you and tried to be both mother and father to you.

And...

For Will too.

Be free from your sense of obligation to me.

Be free, and be happy, and don't mourn me because this is what I want.

I thought, especially as I could feel tears welling in my own eyes as I looked at it and tried to take it all in, that it would have been more than enough to bring Will undone again, but, somehow, it didn't. He simply smiled, a beautiful, warm smile that lit up his entire face and, after carefully placing the drawing down on the coffee-table, leant up against me in an open invitation to put my arm around his shoulders.

Which, of course, I was only too happy to do.

So...

No. Not even a mission involving the Syndicate would have dragged me away from Will's side yesterday, and while I can't say I'm all that thrilled at having to go today, at least I know that the worst of it is all over now and that he's already on the road to recovery. That, thanks to Anthony's drawing, he's been able to make his peace with what happened and knows that it's now up to him to move forward.

I just have one thing that I have to do before I can leave, that's all.

Reaching the sixth floor, I walk along the corridor to Will's office and, just as I've done so many times during the past ten months, tap on the wall of glass beside the door to get his attention before stepping through the doorway and smiling a silent greeting at him. The difference this time though is that he's not a cause of frustration for not giving in to my demands to join the team, or a source of curiosity as to why he always appeared to be hiding something from me, he's just... Will. My friend, and someone who happens to be very, very important to me.

“You're not seriously telling me it's time for lunch already, are you?” Will murmurs as, looking up from his laptop, he gives me a smile of his own. “I could have sworn I'd only been sitting here for an hour or so.”

“It's not lunch time,” I reply, “and the reason, well, one of the reasons anyway, I'm here now is to tell you that I'm not actually going to be able to join you for lunch because, effective immediately, of course, I've scored a mission.”

“Oh.” His expression giving nothing away, Will glances back down at his laptop. “The Syndicate? I wondered if you'd score that.”

“The Syndicate,” I confirm, walking further into the office and, in the hope of getting him to look back up at me, placing my hand down on top of the laptop's screen. “Jane, Benji, and I, along with Agent David Fielding, are having to head off to Istanbul... pretty much now, actually... and I just wanted to see you before I go, because...” Pausing, I gently push the screen down and wait until Will's gazing at me before adding, “Will... I want you to continue staying at my house while I'm gone. Just because I'm not going to be there doesn't mean that you have to feel as though you have to leave, and...”

“Ethan, I...”

“If you're going to protest, don't. The house would only stand empty while I'm away anyway, so... Why shouldn't you stay there, huh? You know where everything is, the heating works, and you can work on what you want to do with your place just as well there as you could sitting in your freezing bedroom back at...”

“If you'd let me finish,” Will murmurs as, pushing his chair back, he stands up and walks around the desk to join me in front of it, “I'd just been going to say... Thank you. I'd prefer you to be there with me, of course I would, but if you're really okay with me staying in your house while you're away, then I... I really would like to stay there.”

“You're... not going to protest or argue with me?” I reply, hiding my surprise at Will's easy acceptance behind both a raised eyebrow and a dubious tone. “Just... Who are you and what have you done with Will?”

“Smart ass,” he mutters as, clearly not having finished with his surprises, he shifts closer to me and drapes his arms over my shoulders. “Like I think I've said before, I'm not a masochist and, I'll admit it, I'm actually dreading having to return to my house, so... Again, thank you. Thank you for the offer of letting me stay in your house as, yes, I'd actually like that very much. And... Thank you, too, for your faultless kindness, for just... being there for me in a way I've never done anything to deserve, and...” Trailing off, he rests his forehead against mine and, as I can't help but slide my arms around his waist, softly sighs. “I'm going to miss you. I know I've spent a year trying to keep you away, but I... I've adapted to having you around now and... I'm going to miss you...”

“And...” Hugging Will to me, I try to ignore the fact that I shouldn't be here at all and should already be en route to the airfield with the others, and whisper, “I'm going to miss you too...”

~*~*~*~*~


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ Community Service Announcement ~
> 
> This chapter contains completely gratuitous cat references. You have been warned.

~*~*~*~*~

Shoving the receipt into my pocket, I nod my thanks to the cab driver and, stepping onto the pavement, watch him drive off down the street for a few seconds before turning around and heading for my front gate. Reaching it, I hesitate over pushing it open and just gaze at my house with an odd sense of trepidation.

Home sweet home.

It...

...Looks the same as it always does. 

The lawn and garden are nicely maintained, the façade is clean and showing no obvious signs of age, the front door and window trims aren't in need of a fresh coat of paint, and, thanks to the workers from the maintenance company I pay to look after my property because I'm hardly ever around to do so myself, it just looks like it always does.

A nice house in a nice suburb. Nothing out of the ordinary or even worthy of so much as a second glance. Having no emotional attachment to it, to me it's just a collection of walls holding up a roof over both my head when I'm in town and my collection of – equally as lacking in emotional attachment – belongings. I like it well enough, and see no reason to want to move any time soon, but it's just... accommodation... to me and I have no rituals attached to returning to it after a mission. I might feel a slight sense of relief or perhaps disbelief at having made it back home again in one piece, but I'm never really what you'd call... happy... to see it and, if asked, would probably refer to it not so much as a home as it is just a house.

And it's a house that looks exactly the same as it did when I last walked out through its front door six weeks ago.

Unlived in.

Neat, tidy, and completely lacking in any signs of a personal touch.

Now, I don't know what, if indeed anything, I'd been expecting to return to, but this...

This... same old, same old... just worries me.

While, no, I don't for a second think Will would have done anything to either my garden or the front of my house during his stay, what if...

… He didn't actually stay here at all and, once I was safely on the plane and out of his hair, just went back to his own wreck of a house?

I know he repeated his claim of not being a masochist when, without so much as a hint of protest, he agreed to stay here while I was away, but, I don't know, maybe it was just too easy. Will's not stupid and he would have known that the easiest way to get rid of me would have been to just blithely agree before, once I was out of the picture, going ahead and doing his own thing anyway. He also would have known that arguing with me might have kept me from catching my flight and that letting me think I'd gotten my way was simply in the best interests of those waiting for me.

So...

Maybe he didn't stay here at all.

Maybe I was right to be paranoid about his too easy capitulation, and maybe I should have done a better job of not – dithering – talking myself out of checking up on him. It's not, after all, as though I didn't spend a fair bit of time thinking about it during the early, more slow going days of the mission. I mean, I thought about phoning him, and I thought long and hard about what I might say to him so that it didn't look glaringly obvious that all I really wanted to know was whether he was still staying in my house or not, and, hell, I even went so far as to contemplate calling Luther and asking him if he'd be able to do my dirty work for me.

Then, thankfully, I came to my senses and realised that regardless of what I might have wanted for him, Will was his own man and he could, just as he'd been doing until I came along with my delusion of needing to baby-sit him, make his own decisions. It was his life, not mine, and... Who died and made me an expert on how he needed to live his life anyway?

Alternatively, the mission heated up and I found myself too busy to dwell on Will, let alone where he was sleeping, and that's how I ended up – getting a grip – being able to move on. I prefer, as it would indicate that I hadn't completely lost it and wasn't hovering dangerously close to stalker-material at all, thinking that I made up my mind to just let... sleeping dogs lie... on my own, but at the end of the day it doesn't really matter.

I haven't heard from Will since I reluctantly left him in his office six weeks ago and have no idea whatsoever as to what he's been up to during this time. I can hope that he's been okay, and I can hope that he's stayed here all I like but, again, it's not as though any of it now matters. It's history. The mission is history. Another arm of the Syndicate is history. Will's days of looking after Anthony are history. The... bond... we shared in the aftermath of Anthony's suicide may well be history as well.

I...

I just don't know. When it comes to Will it's as though nothing has even changed and I still don't know where I stand with him.

But...

Whatever.

What I do know is that I'm tired. Bone weary and close to falling asleep on my feet. The mission, while somewhat free from any physical threats to life and limb, was both long and mentally challenging and, truth be told, I'm glad that it's over. I could have, in fact I probably... should have, slept on the plane back to Dulles but, wanting to get the paper work over and done with, I forced myself to stay awake and finished writing everything up instead. The mission report is done. Done too is my creative writing exercise about why I didn't want to have to work with David Fielding – who, as it happens, would have had to have been one of our more... tolerable... 'fill ins', if, that is, you could get over his constant, albeit futile, pursuit of Jane – again, and...

While I'm at it, I think I'm pretty much done too.

Done with the mission. Done asking questions in my head about Will that I can't answer. Done standing here, staring vacantly at the house like an idiot.

Just...

… Done.

Sighing, I trudge up to the front door and, after digging my keys out of my pocket, both unlock it and push it open. Walking inside with the sole aim of collapsing on my bed and taking a long overdue nap, I'm about to make a beeline for the stairs when, out of the corner of my eye, I see it.

On the coat rack by the door.

Will's coat, the charcoal one he wore to Anthony's funeral, it...

… It's just hanging there.

And there, hanging on the pegs next it, are a couple of scarves that I know for a fact aren't mine.

Putting two and two together and... perking up considerably, I head in to the living room and, proving, I suspect, that I really am over tired, actually grin when I take in the obvious signs of life spread throughout it. Novel, complete with bookmark hanging out of it, and iPad on the coffee-table, neatly folded blanket draped over the back of the sofa, and, although I never saw it at his house, what would just have to be Will's grandfather's clock both sitting, and ticking away quietly, on the mantelpiece.

It looks...

… Lived in.

And I couldn't be happier to see it.

Still smiling, I make my way into the kitchen, where there's apples and pears filling a fruit bowl on the bench and a dirty coffee cup in the sink, and, at the risk of sounding as though it doesn't take much to thrill me, it's all just... brilliant.

He stayed.

Will chose to stay here, and I've come home to find my house looking lived in for a change, and, seriously, it's just brilliant.

Stifling a yawn, I leave the kitchen and, with what I'm sure has to be a stupid looking smile stretched across my lips, walk up the stairs to my bedroom. Although there's a part of me that wants to poke my nose into the guest room to see how Will's made it is his own, my body doesn't really want to take the extra steps it would take to get me there and, with another yawn, I simply kick my shoes off, collapse on the bed and, within minutes, am fast asleep.

~*~

Something, albeit something both quiet and non threatening, waking me, I open my eyes and, not feeling any particular urge to move just yet, hope I can get to the bottom of whatever it was that dared to interrupt my sleep without having to get up. Listening closely, I can't hear any sounds of life, from either a car pulling into the driveway, a key being turned in the front door, or footsteps on the stairs, ringing out through the house, and, after a minute of listening to absolutely nothing other than my own breathing has passed, reluctantly accept that what woke me can't have been Will's return.

More disappointed by this fact than I really want to let on to myself, I glance at my watch, read that it's just gone six in the evening and, hoping that he'll be home by the time I next wake up, am about to close my eyes when I hear it again.

Faint, and still far more cause for curiosity than it is concern, it sounds like a small bell, or...

Wait.

As there it went again, I now think that the noise is perhaps more like metal touching on metal, like the sound made by...

A small metal tag hanging from a collar and rubbing against the, also metal, buckle as the wearer moves around.

Fairly certain that what I'm putting the noise down to can't actually be, well, what my mind is trying to tell me it has to be, I'm in the process of sitting up when, suddenly I see...

Paws. Two of them, reaching up and resting on the edge of the mattress. White in fur and attached to sleek black legs.

A cat.

A black and white cat, complete with a red patent leather collar and – a-ha, so I... was... right – a gold tag no doubt engraved with its name hanging from it, is...

Honestly.

If I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes I wouldn't believe it.

Standing on its hind legs and with its front paws delicately placed on the edge of the bed, the cat stares at me with, and I swear I'm not hallucinating here, a look of open – who the fuck are you? – curiosity on its face. Its not afraid of me or, I suspect, even overly bothered by my presence, but...

I'll be damned if I know just what it is – other than staring at me in fascination, that is – it's doing in my bedroom.

Don't get me wrong. I don't have a problem with cats. In fact, if anything I'm largely indifferent to them. Hell, as pets go they're low maintenance, are prone to displaying random examples of mind-blowing arrogance and, if I'm still alive in twenty years time and not a dribbling wreck in a pet-free 'retreat' somewhere, I could possibly even consider having one myself.

It's just...

There's a cat in my bedroom, yet... I don't have a cat.

And, Will... If he had one, wouldn't he have... perhaps mentioned it while we were in his house that morning?

Not sharing my dilemma as to whether I'm actually not awake at all and am in fact having some sort of weird ass dream, the cat, with a cheerful sounding chirrup, jumps neatly on to the bed and, with no degree of hesitation whatsoever, walks directly onto me and promptly takes a seat on my chest. Too surprised by this – case in point example of mind-blowing arrogance – to do anything other than stare at the cat as it stares, wide eyed and unblinking, back at me, I marvel at the surreality of the moment and am contemplating reaching out a tentative hand to see if it will allow me to stroke it when the sound of the front door opening reaches my ears.

Actually, make that, as the cat's ears immediately prick up as well, the sound of Will returning home reaches... our... ears. 

I'd laugh, I really would, at the strangeness of the situation, only, as it's still sitting on my chest and I know my t-shirt wouldn't be a match for its claws, I'm wary of any sudden movement unsettling my furry friend and, not really knowing what else to do, decide to just continue lying here until either Will finds – and rescues – me or the cat goes off in search for something else peculiar looking to stare at. Sure, it's a cop out, and it's not as though I'm really afraid of the cat and know that I could move it in a heartbeat if I really wanted to, but, I don't know, for no specific reason I'm just taken with the strangeness of the moment and want to see where it will lead.

I'm back home after a long mission, my house for a change looks both lived in and welcoming, I have – and no one could be more surprised by this than I am – a cat perched on my chest, and... Will's finally home

Will, who I've missed more than I've been willing to admit to myself and who, I can only hope, is at least half as pleased to see me as I know I am at the mere thought of finally getting to see him again.

“So...” Lifting my head up from the pillow, I gingerly prop myself up on my elbows and, despite telling myself that I both know better and am simply wasting my time, flash the cat a cautious smile. “Are you going to let me up so that I can go and great the, I very much suspect, kind hearted... sucker... who's given you free run of my house, or... are you just going to continue to use me as your very own personal sofa?”

Cocking its head to the side, the cat observes me through its large golden eyes for a few seconds before, with a casual flick of its tail, yawning broadly.

“I take it, then,” I mutter, rolling my eyes, “that that would be a... no.”

“Saha?” Will familiar voice calls out as, having concluded his tour of the ground floor, he starts up the stairs. “Where are you... this... time?”

“Saha, huh? So that's your name,” I murmur as, clearly recognising Will's voice, the cat stands up, flicks me in the nose with the tip of its tail, and, after bounding off the bed, positions itself just inside the room and with its head poking out through the doorway.

“Saha!” Will exclaims with what I take to sound like a sigh of exasperation as, stepping on to the landing, he spots his errant feline peering around the doorway at him. “What are you doing in there?”

It just being far too good an opportunity to miss, I sit up and, despite knowing all too well that it's only going to mess with Will's head, loudly state, “Well, my excuse is that I happen to live here. The cat, however... Hey. Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Ethan! You...” His issues with Saha being somewhere she apparently shouldn't have been momentarily forgotten, Will arrives in the doorway and, on the strength of his shocked – not delighted, or even simply surprised, just... shocked – expression, I think it's fair to say that he has no idea whatsoever to make of my unexpected return. “You're.... back.”

“That I am,” I confirm, swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress and flashing him a smile. So, okay, perhaps he looks a little... mortified... at finding me sitting here on my bed, and, yes, of course I would have been happier with a better reaction, but... Damn, it's good to see him. Dressed in a well cut charcoal suit with a classic white shirt and a – now loosened – soft blue tie, he has a healthy glow to his cheeks that was sadly missing the last time I saw him and, without wanting to wax too lyrically, he just looks good. A sight for sore eyes, even.

“But...” Still looking flustered, Will glances down at Saha as, supremely unbothered by the fact he's behaving as though the rug has been pulled out from under his feet, she rubs a greeting around his legs. “You... I thought...”

“We have a cat, I see,” I comment as, feeling the need to take pity on him, I increase the wattage of my smile and gesture at Saha.

“We...?” Will echoes, jerking his head up and gazing over at me through wide, almost uncomprehending eyes.

“You're not honestly going to stand there and tell me that you're... possessive... over the cat, are you?” I query facetiously as, slowly, it begins to dawn on me that his flat-footed, stunned reaction may actually be more cause for concern than merriment. “Will?”

“What? No! I...” Trailing off, he shakes his head and, once again dropping his gaze to Saha, frowns. “I'm sorry, Ethan. I know that I should have asked you before taking her in, or... or that I never should have agreed to take her, but I... I had to do something!” he adds breathlessly as the words fall out of his mouth in a rush. “If I hadn't have taken her they were going to have her put down and... and as Madame Durant was already distraught enough over having to leave her home without the added stress of worrying about her cat I... I just don't know what else I could have done. But... If you don't want her here I... I'll understand and, if need be, we'll just go back to my place...”

We... As in, if I blow a fuse over the cat, he'll – let's face it here – choose, regardless of how much inconvenience it will cause him, her over me. Which, in turn – and, again, let's face it here – means I'd be a complete fool, if not an absolute asshole while I'm at it, if I got all indignant over a cat of all things. If he'd set up another lost cause, drug addict in my home then, sure, I could rant and rave and demand an explanation, but... A cat? Seriously, who cares. God knows I don't. Quite frankly he could have five of the furry critters roaming about the place for all the impact in would have on my life.

“The cat,” I murmur, making a bid to get things onto a much better track, “Saha, yes?”

“Yes... Her name's Saha, after the Russian Blue in Colette's novel, La Chatte,” Will replies as, still frowning, he lifts his head and, for all of a split second, allows his gaze to meet mine. “Madame Durant, if you can believe it...”

“Whatever it is you're going to say, I'd probably stand a better chance of... believing... it if I knew just who this Madame Durant is,” I interrupt, giving Will an expectant look as, to my consternation, his frown deepens and he gazes back at me in mute astonishment. “What? You say the name as though you expect it to mean something to me and, I'm sorry, it just doesn't.”

“She was your neighbour on the left,” Will responds matter-of-factly as, the claw lightly embedding itself in his trouser leg being all the hint he needs from Saha to know that she'd like a little more attention to be paid to her, he crouches down and gently runs his hand along the length of her back. “A lovely old, well into her eighties at least, French woman,” he continues. “Surely you must have met her.”

“Uh... Sorry. Can't say that I did.”

“But... I thought you said that you've lived here for a couple of years now.”

“Three years, to be exact.”

“And you've never met your neighbour?”

“Uh... Nope.” Not liking the disbelieving look Will is shooting me as he continues to pet Saha, I give him a weak smile in return and shrug. “Don't look at me like that. You know that I don't spend much time here and, when I do, I'm usually busy.”

“I get that, I do, but... she was still your neighbour,” Will sighs. “I met her only a couple of days after you'd left. It was bin night and when I saw that she was struggling to put hers out I went outside and offered to help her.”

“Oh.” Bin night. Being neighbourly. For some reason I just can't shake the sudden feeling that during the six weeks he's lived here Will's both learnt more about the neighbourhood and fitted in better than I ever could.

“She was old, struggling, and the weather was awful,” he mutters as, scowling, he stands back up. “Don't sit there, Ethan, and try to tell me that if you'd seen her you wouldn't have gone out and helped too.”

“If I'd seen her, then, yeah, of course I would have,” I reply with a shrug as I decide to hold off on adding that, well, as I've never paid any of my neighbours any attention, it's highly doubtful I even would have seen it. Knowledge being – an imperative part of, in my line of work, staying alive – power and all that, I did cursory background checks on all the residents in the street before I moved in, but as nothing about any of them raised any red flags or required further monitoring, I pretty much just promptly forgot that they even existed. I'll admit that it's not particularly nice of me, and it's definitely far from caring, but... It's just how it is.

“Of course you would have,” Will repeats, giving me an odd look as, once again not appearing as though he knows quite what to do with himself, he sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Anyway, back to Madame Durant... While age had well and truly caught up with her body, her mind was still fully intact and I spent quite a few good nights at her place listening to her tales of having grown up in Paris and what it was like during the war years. It was, of course, there that she met Colette...”

“Colette?”

“The French author.”

“Oh. That Colette.” Silly me.

“Mmm... Madame Durant used to clean for her and, as Colette gave her a signed copy of La Chatte as a gift because she knew how much she loved cats, for the past sixty or so years every cat that she's ever had she's named Saha, after...”

“The Blue Burmese...”

“Russian Blue,” Will corrects with yet another frown.

“Russian Blue.” Again, silly me for mixing the two breeds up. “So... Saha, who is simply the latest in a long line of Sahas, belonged to Madame Durant, and... You have her... because?”

“Because, sadly, Madame Durant fell and broke her hip and, as the doctors were worried about both how long it was going to take her to convalesce and whether she'd ever be able to manage in that big house of hers on her own again, her daughter came down from Miami and managed, after much persuasion, to get her to move back with her,” Will replies. “Said daughter, however, lives in an apartment block that doesn't allow pets and was just going to have Saha put down if she couldn't find someone to take her. Madame Durant was, obviously, horrified by this thought and...”

“That's where you come in,” I finish, looking across at Will and, once I've managed to catch his downcast, not to mention still incredibly worried looking gaze, flashing him a broad smile. “Look, Will... It's fine. I don't have a problem with cats and, if you want Saha to live here then, seriously, I'm fine with it. If you'd have asked I would have agreed, and I'm not bothered by the fact that you didn't or, as the case may actually be, couldn't ask. She's... just a cat. One that needed a new home, and one that you, wanting to help out your friend, took in. That's all, so... Please. Stop looking so worried. Honestly, I'm fine with it.”

“I just...” Sighing, Will straightens his shoulders and gives me a sheepish, possibly even slightly embarrassed smile. “Sorry. I'm over reacting, I know I am. It's just...” Trailing off, he shakes his head and, walking over to the bed, sits down next to me. “Sorry. I'm glad that you're back, of course I am. It's just that if I'd known I would have tidied up and made sure that...”

“Hey... Shhh...” Not needing to hear Will apologising for something that, simply put, doesn't warrant so much as a second thought let alone an apology, I place my hand on his knee and, once he's reluctantly glancing at me, quickly shake my head. “Just... Chill, okay? There's nothing to be achieved by working yourself up over nothing, and... That's what it is. Nothing. I'm fine with the cat, the house looks, if you must know, lived in and far more like an actual home than it usually does, and, if it didn't and you'd been living here like a complete slob and the place looked like a tornado had gone through it, I... Listen to me, Will, I wouldn't have cared. You've been living here, not me, and... You've got to stop worrying, okay? I'm just glad to be... home.”

Home. Not simply back in D.C., but actually... home. I know that I can't get used to it, that I can't simply take Will's presence in my house for granted, but for this one time at least it really is just... nice. Nice to have his things scattered around the place, nice to have him actually here and, yes, it's even... nice... to have a cat sitting by my feet and, I swear, eyeing off the bed in anticipation of jumping back up on to it.

“Are you sure?” Will queries doubtfully as he looks down at my hand as it rests on his knee. “It was so kind of you to let me stay here that...” Falling abruptly silent, his eyes widen in obvious horror as Saha, having decided to make her move, jumps neatly onto the bed and makes a beeline for my pillow. “Uh! Sorry,” he mutters as, getting to his feet, he picks Saha up and, turning a deaf ear to her instant yowl of complaint, returns her to the floor. “She's used to getting on my bed... which... uh... has my own bedding on it now, so... uh... hopefully it's okay, but...”

“And, yet again I just don't care,” I state, cutting Will off as, taking matters into my own hands, I lean forward and, picking Saha up, place her back on the bed. “She's a cat and, having lived with enough of them growing up, she'll sleep wherever she wants. Now, if that just happens to be on my bed then... whatever. It really doesn't bother me. In fact, not only was she actually standing on my chest when you got home, but you're also forgetting that I grew up on a farm and have probably woken up next to animals you've never even seen under a roof before!”

What's more, while I don't especially want to go into details, I'm not exactly joking either.

Something in my response finally causing all of the doubt, anxiety and tension to just up and leave him, Will laughs and, for the first time since walking into the room, flashes me a genuine smile that both reaches his eyes and lights up his entire face. “In terms of the mental images you've just given me,” he murmurs through more laughter, “I can't even tell which one is... getting... to me more, Saha perched on your chest, or... you waking up to find a farm animal sharing your bed with you! Just... Thank you. I may never be able to look at you in quite the same way ever again, but... thank you...”

“And thank you for laughing at my... plight,” I retort with a mock haughty sniff. “I'll tell you something though, a cat is... nothing... compared to a litter of piglets.”

“Piglets?” Will grins with a quick shake of his head. “I... I don't think I want to know.”

“Hey, at the time neither did I,” I mutter as, looking content that she's been able to stake her claim on my pillow, Saha begins to both purr and knead it into submission. “Saha here, seriously, I'll take her over a pig any day.”

“In that case, I'm both amused... and relieved,” Will replies as, still grinning, he looks at Saha and rolls his eyes. “Actually, Ethan... Thank you. I... I really mean it. Not only for having let me stay here, but also for being... okay... with the cat. I still feel a little bad over not being able to ask you if...”

“Forget it. Nothing more needs to ever be said on the subject,” I declare, hoping to put an end to this line of conversation once at for all as, standing up, I close my hand around Will's shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze. “Now... I don't know what your plans for the evening were, but I'm starting to feel a bit hungry, so... Why don't I have a quick shower and get changed before taking you somewhere for dinner?”

“Actually... While the idea certainly isn't without temptation,” Will replies, wrinkling his nose at whatever it is Saha's doing now before, with a – 'I give up' – shrug, turning his full attention on to me and smiling, “I stopped by Union Meats on the way ho... uh... here and picked up a couple of steaks that I'd been planning to cook on the barbecue.”

“A... couple... of steaks? I repeat as, unable to either help myself or – once again – just let the opportunity pass, I put on a small performance of looking him up and down appraisingly. “Feeling hungry, were we?”

“No, not particularly,” he responds, shrugging as what I truly believe to be a faint pink glow of embarrassment stains his cheeks. “One was going to be for me, and the other was...”

Realising just what it is Will's about to confess to, I laughingly exclaim, “Oh my God! You got the other bit for Saha, didn't you? That... She really has you under her paw, doesn't she...”

“She's got to eat something,” Will mutters, the colour in his cheeks darkening as he drops his shoulder out from under my hand and takes a step back. “I am, however, if you think you'd like steak instead of going out, that is, prepared to offer it to you.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

“Well, I thought so.”

“Even it means the poor kitty-cat over there going to go hungry?”

“There... is... cat food in the fridge.”

“Ah... So the only reason you're really willing to offer me the steak is because Saha has... options?”

“Of course. If there was nothing else for her to eat in the house, you'd be on your own.”

“Again, it really is very magnanimous of you, offering me a piece of steak bought for a cat.”

“If it helps,” Will retorts, giving me a smirk that's at direct odds to the bright-with-amusement gleam in his eyes, “while I'd been planning to serve it to her raw, I am actually prepared to go so far as to... cook... yours first.”

“You're all heart. You know that, don't you? You're just all heart.” Laughing – at everything from our easy-going, good-natured banter all the way down to the fact that Will actually... had... bought a piece of steak for a cat – I step closer to him and, without stopping to think about just what it is I'm doing, slide my arms around his waist and draw him to me for a hug. “You know something? I really have missed you.”

Will, just as I would have known if I'd paused to think about my actions, instinctively stiffens at my overly familiar touch and, for a few – long, very long – seconds, time stands still as, quite possibly while holding his breath, he just gazes at me through wide eyes. Sure, we may have embraced like this in his office six weeks ago, but a lot could have happened or changed in Will's life since then and, thinking that I've perhaps made a hideous mistake, I'm about to both let him go and launch into a thousand-and-one apologies for having clearly overstepped my boundaries, when, as much to my relief as my delight, he relaxes into my embrace and hugs me back.

“I've missed you too,” he murmurs thickly. “More... Make that, much more, than I thought I would...” 

~*~

I've been involved, as both a participant and a spectator, in a number of, shall we say, 'interesting' situations in my time. From the animals that used to have free roam of the house while I was growing up, all the way to the general – masks, explosions, fire fights, despotic scum-bags hell bent on world domination – insanity of how I choose to make my living, I can pretty much airily declare that... 'I've seen it all'. 

What I'm a part of currently, however, in its own, perfectly domestic and innocent way, pretty much trumps everything before it.

It's just...

Well, I actually think it's even stranger than when Saha first took it upon herself to perch on my chest.

Strange. Definitely strange. But also oddly... nice. Perhaps even just that little bit... comforting.

Unusual, though. Certainly unusual, and just about the last way I ever would have expected to spend an evening at home.

A phone call – from the Secretary himself, no more and no less – flagging a sudden influx of intel on a case he'd been responsible for monitoring, Will's sitting on the sofa opposite me with both his laptop and iPad in front of him on the coffee-table and, for the past four hours he's been lost in the task of wading his way through, and making sense of, all of the new information. While I don't know if I'd go quite so far as to say he's enjoying himself, he's certainly engrossed in his task and, although I keep sneaking glances at him over the top of my own iPad, I can't say I'd be willing to be bet my life on him knowing that I'm actually in the room with him.

Oh. And for the past two or so hours Saha, blissfully ignorant of both the importance of what it is he's doing and how... difficult... she's making it for him to reach his laptop, has been curled up, sound asleep on his lap. She even – and, okay, so I may have sneakily recorded this on the iPad for the sake of future amusement – kneaded his thigh for a good five minutes through his jeans when she first arrived and, just on the off chance this wasn't enough of an interruption, then proceeded to both very slowly and very thoroughly groom herself before finally settling down to sleep.

And Will, despite the discomfort and annoyance she just had to be causing him, simply went on with his task as though she wasn't even there. He changed position slightly, and absent-mindedly patted her a few times, but other than that it was as though he wasn't even aware of her.

And...

I don't know. Perhaps I'm just more easily amused than I ever thought I could be, but everything about this – quaintly domestic – evening is just tickling my fancy like you wouldn't believe. Here I am, pretending to bring myself up to speed with recent mission reports on my iPad, while Will, complete with Saha asleep on his lap, industriously analyses information for the Secretary. We... prepared food together, ate together, shared – also much to my great bemusement – our steak with the cat together, cleaned up together, and now we're... sitting together in the living room like an old married couple. Sure, I've frequently been in rooms with people, friends even, working, both focussed and silently, on computers before. Hell, truth be told during missions it's a day-to-day, taken for granted situation. Usually though it's in an office, a safe house or a hotel room, and not my very own living room. Nor is it usually quite this peaceful. No stress, no pressure or expectations. Just two friends sitting in the same room together because it's simply where they want to be. 

Well, speaking for myself it's where I want to be. Not only am I home, but it looks as though in my absence things have fallen neatly into place and that alone makes the long journey we've taken to reach this point entirely worth while. 

Will, he... seems content, and for that I'm both glad and greatly relieved. I gather from what he told me during dinner that, in the six short weeks he's been here, he's learnt more about both my neighbours and my neighbourhood than I have in the three years I've lived here and that, possibly a little to his surprise, he's felt quite at home. He also looks far healthier and definitely seems both a lot calmer and in a much better place than he did when I – reluctantly – left him to go on the mission. Since getting over the shock of my unannounced and unexpected return and accepting that I didn't have a problem with the feline interloper he'd invited into my house at all, he's just been... behaving perfectly – dare I say it? – normally. Relaxed, friendly, open, and, best of all, not giving any indication of wanting to look over his shoulder every second minute. While I accept it may be a somewhat strange thing to think, but from what I've been able to see so far anyway, he honestly seems at peace. And, again, as it's what he truly deserves I can't help but be happy for him.

The sound of a laptop being gently closed grounding me back in the here and now, I look over at Will and smile. “Finished?”

“As the read receipt just came through to confirm that the Secretary has received my report,” he replies, returning my smile as he leans back against the sofa, “yes, I've finished. Sorry about being such poor company on your first night back, but...”

“As I hardly need entertaining, there's... I might just add here, as always... nothing to apologise for,” I interrupt, glancing down at the laptop. “Whether we even like it or not, we're both geared towards putting work above and beyond everything else and the Secretary's request required your attention far more than I did.”

“I still can't help but think it was rude of me,” Will murmurs with a frown as he looks down at Saha and begins to stroke his hand along the length of her back. “You've really been so kind to me that...”

“You're my guest, Will, not my... Actually. No. You're not my guest as, the way I see it, you currently live here as much, if not more, than I do. Just... Do whatever it is you want to do.” Pausing, I shrug and, leaning forward, place my iPad on the coffee-table. “I'm sure I've said this before, but you're not to feel obligated towards me in any way. Hell, you don't even have to stay in the same room with me if you don't want to as... I'm not your keeper and you don't owe me anything.”

“What if I want to be in the same room as you?” Will queries in a faint, possibly even slightly hesitant tone as, not feeling up to looking over at me, he keeps his gaze locked on Saha. “What if the... reason I'm so sorry for having spent the last four hours working is because I would have rather spent them with you?”

“But you have just spent them with me,” I reply with another shrug as, not quite getting where he's going with this, I try unsuccessfully to catch his eyes. “Will? I've been here the entire time.”

A very gentle claw pressing lightly into his wrist letting Will know that Saha has had enough of his petting for the time being, he sighs and mirrors my shrug. “Never mind. It doesn't matter.”

“What doesn't...” Accepting that pushing him on this point, as we're clearly not on the same page at the moment, isn't going to change anything, I decide to change tack and go back to simply smiling at him. “You know, in all the... excitement... of having become co-guardian of a cat, I've forgotten to ask you a very important question.”

“Four,” Will promptly responds as, Saha no longer offering him the diversion he so desperately felt that he needed, he glances over at me and, seeing as it appears to be the time of night for it, shrugs. “She's four. So... If you were wanting to know just how long she might be around for, I'm thinking it's likely to be quite a while.”

“While that wasn't what I'd been going to ask, it's still good to know,” I mutter, grinning as I make no attempt to disguise my amusement at Will choosing to immediately translate my... forgotten... question to mean I'd been wanting to know just how long Saha might stick around for. “What my question actually happens to be is the one I should have asked when I first saw you, and that's...” Pausing, I stand up, walk across the room, and take a seat next to Will on the sofa before adding, “How are you, Will? You were... confused and grieving when I left you, and I'd like to know how you're doing now. You seem well, but...”

“I'm good,” he states, cutting me off as, smiling warmly, he slowly swivels around to better face me. “I'm... really... good. I can't deny that the first few days weren't hard as... they were. I was fully alone for the first time in absolutely ages and, while Anthony hadn't exactly been good company, he'd still... been there, you know... I was just so used to hearing him move around the house that... the silence here took a bit to get used to. As did, as I'm sure you can imagine, knowing that my time was... solely my own, that apart from work I didn't always have somewhere I needed to rush off to.”

“You got used to it though, I hope...”

“Mmm... After a few days of feeling lost and both missing you and not quite knowing what to do with myself I met Madame Durant and, through her, got to know some of the neighbours. I also started to spend a couple of evenings a week with her and, much, I suspect to their astonishment, even went out with the other analysts for drinks a couple of times.”

“In other words, you started to live your own life again,” I murmur, reaching out and giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. “While I'm still a bit on the... astonished... side myself at how well you've managed to get to know the neighbours, I'm pleased that things seem to be going so much better for you.”

“If you'd bothered to meet them, you'd probably like the neigh... Oh!” His eyes widening, Will shakes his head and, miming a smack to the temple with his hand, laughs. “Oh my God. Talk about... forgetting... to mention things,” he mutters, flinching as Saha makes her displeasure known for the way he's suddenly jiggling around beneath her by lightly flexing her claws through the denim of his jeans. “If you thought you were... bad... for not asking how I was,” he continues, shooting Saha an apologetic look, “let me beat it by... finally remembering... to let you know that I've re-passed all the field exams and once again have official field agent status. So... If you still want me, I'm good to go.”

“Oh...” If I still want him, on the team, that is, he's good to go.

I...

Just... Oh.

As in... Oh fuck, now what?

I mean, my knee jerk, instinctual reaction is... of course I want him on the team. It's what started us on the path we're still travelling on now and my opinion regarding both his suitability for the team and his exceptional field skills hasn't changed.

But... Just because it's what I want doesn't mean it's what Will wants. No, he doesn't have Anthony to keep him tethered to D.C. now, but... what if he just wants to stay here anyway? I've never heard him complain about being an analyst – or talk longingly about being back in the field either, for that matter – and he's... settled... here. He has a cat, and acquaintances, and the beginnings of a long-forgotten social life, and... uprooting him from all of this simply because it's what I happen to want...

Well. It's just wrong, that's what it is.

And, just because it's what I've always told myself I've been working towards doesn't mean that it has to eventuate. Not if it's not what Will really wants, or if he's just doing it because he think it's what I want. If he'd prefer to stay here then... I'll suck it up, Benji and Jane will suck it up, and life will just go on. I'd rather have him here and happy than out in the field and missing the life he would have preferred to be having.

“Oh?” Will repeats, looking, not overly surprisingly, hurt at my lack of enthusiasm for his – 'but, it's what you wanted, isn't it?' – news. “Ethan? I thought... Uh...” Sighing heavily, he turns his head away from me and, dropping his shoulder out from under my hand, gazes at nothing in particular on the wall. “Sorry. I thought you'd been wanting me on your team, but...”

“I do,” I interrupt, realising just how badly I've managed to wound him with my silence and mentally berating myself for it. “I do want to work with you. Benji and Jane, they want to work with you too, but... It's about what you want, Will. Not what anyone else wants. If you want to stay here, then we'll all respect your decision. You... The only person you have to worry about now, Will, is you and you're only to do what... you... want to. If that's returning to field work then, seriously, that's wonderful and I'd love to have you on the team, but if you want to continue as an analyst and stay here with Saha then... that's fine too. It's your life, and your choice.”

“I've already found a highly rated cattery to take Saha to during missions,” Will replies quietly as, still not feeling up to looking at me, he goes back to gazing down at the peacefully sleeping cat on his lap. “Alternatively, if we stay here... uh... Oh God... I didn't mean, here, as in your house! Just... If I decide to move to this neighbourhood, that is, Mrs Watkins from up the street would be only too happy to look after her while I was away... consulting. I... I know you probably think taking on the responsibility of a cat and going back into the field don't make any sense or won't work, but I... I've looked into it and... and it can.”

“If it's what you want, of course it can,” I respond matter-of-factly as, possibly taking a risk, I return my hand to Will's slumped shoulder. “I'm sorry, Will. I never meant to sound unenthusiastic or as though I've... changed my mind or been playing you, but... You've got to believe me when I say that, right now, the only thing I want is what... you... want. Just... Whatever you want.”

Giving me a look that I can't quite read and which isn't helped by the half-smile tugging on his lips, Will carefully picks up Saha and places her back down on to the sofa cushion next to him before standing up and stretching. “What I want,” he murmurs, “is to not be having this conversation right now and to go to bed.” Pausing, he looks me directly in the eye and extends his hand towards me as though he's waiting for me to take it. “So, are you coming or not?”

“To... bed?” Such an open invitation being just about the last thing I expected, I nonetheless – somehow control the urge to show just how... enthusiastic... I am actually capable of being – place my hand in Will's and let him help me up from the sofa. “With... you?”

“You asked me what I want,” Will replies, giving me a thankfully more amused than either miffed or doubtful look as he squeezes my hand, “and, again, right now what I want is to go to bed... with you. It having been a while, I'm not guaranteeing you the... uh... experience of a lifetime, and, yeah, you were right to stop me that night on the stairs, but... This time... Right now, it really is what I want. I... I've missed you, and... I want... you.”

Not needing telling twice, I tighten my hand around Will's and, with a grin, begin to lead him towards the door. “As, in this instance at least, our... wants... just happen to be very much on the same page,” I murmur as, pausing in the doorway, I let go of his hand only to wrap my arms around him for a quick hug, “all I really have to ask is... Your place, or mine?”

“Yours.” Hugging me back, Will plants a – promise of things to come – fleeting kiss on my lips before, with a truly happy sounding laugh, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the stairs. “Mine's covered in cat hair!”

~*~

“Shower?” Will queries hopefully as, clearly possessing far more energy than I do right at this exact moment, he climbs off the bed and stretches – that fucking gorgeous body of his – languidly.

“You... what?” I gasp, making no attempt to disguise the fact that, hey, as it's just about all I currently feel up to, I'm both watching, and am highly appreciative of, his every move. With his pale, perfectly formed and toned flesh flushed from our lovemaking and covered in a light sheen of sweat, Will really does just make for such an incredible sight that I can barely believe that he's really here, that's there's a chance that he really... could... be mine. “You want me to... move? After... that?”

“I'd like a shower, and I thought you might like to...” Trailing off as his natural instinct to doubt himself comes – perhaps inevitably – into play, he frowns and tries to hide his discomfort behind a small shrug. “It... Whatever. It doesn't matter. If you don't want...”

“Of course I want,” I interrupt with both a smile and an airy wave of my hand. Yes, I could either sigh heavily or launch into a lecture about neither doubting his every move or second guessing mine, but, seriously, there's just no point. 

Will worries and errs on the side of automatically thinking the worst because, simply put, that's how he is. The way he put his life on hold to care for Anthony proves that he thinks nothing of putting his own needs last and, regardless of how much I might like to be able to wave a magic wand and change it, I know that I can't, that I can't change him overnight and just need to be patient. Patient, understanding, there... for him, and to let him find his own way and come out of his self-protective shell in his own time. He's not broken, or even particularly damaged. He's just incredibly private and been on his own for too long, that's all. And, at the end of the day, this is just something I have to constantly remember. Will is caring and generous, and pretty much everything I'm not. He also has a somewhat dominant voice of self-doubt in his head that, to be completely honest, I can't for the life of me understand.

What he is also is though, and I swear I'll get this through to him even it takes months if not years of hard work and dedication on my part, is the best thing to have ever come into my life. Ignoring the fact that he's naked, hot-as-fuck, and only a minute ago bought me to a mind shattering orgasm with his mouth, I look at Will and all I really see is...

… My friend, and someone I just want to spend as much time as possible with.

In bed, on the sofa, feeding the cat, out on a mission... Wherever, whenever, and doing... whatever. I just want to, if not be with him, then... know... that he's there, somewhere, waiting for me.

And that, really, is just all there is to it. Today has given me just a small glimpse, and, no, I'm not just talking about the sex here, of what we could have and I know that it's worth fighting for. That, while I may have arguably finally won the fight to get Will back out in the field again, the fight to make him believe in himself is an ongoing one that I have no intention of ever backing down from.

“Of course I want to shower with you, you fool,” I continue breathlessly as I put on a bit of a performance of struggling into a sitting position. “Just... Let me get my breath back first, yeah...”

“You don't...” Stopping himself from continuing, Will smiles weakly and takes a seat on the foot of the bed. “It... It was okay, then?” he murmurs hesitantly. “If I did anything wrong or...”

“If that was you out of practice and after a long dry spell,” I mutter as, drawing on the reserve of energy I usually have to rely on during missions to convince my limbs to obey my orders to move, I shift into a kneeling position and crawl down to the end of the bed, “then I'm already looking forward, with considerable interest, I might add, to what you'll be capable of doing to me after a bit more practice.” Pausing, I drape my arms over Will's shoulders, press my bare chest up against his back, and kiss the top of his head. “Come on, Will. Cheer up. You were... and are... amazing and, whether you believe it or not, I feel incredibly lucky to have you.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a way with words?” Will replies as, placing his hands over mine, he cranes his neck back and gives me a lingering kiss on the lips. “It's just,” he adds, turning back around and looking down at his knees, “that it really... has... been a long time, and... and I'm sorry for not having lasted...”

“If you must know, I just took the... speed... in which you reacted to me to be a sign of my... prowess,” I murmur directly into his left ear as I move swiftly to stomp out his latest, ultimately meaningless and pointless, cause for doubt. “Now, I know this is at direct odds to your normal state, but don't worry about it. As you keep saying, it had been a while and... with practice, that, by the way, I'm only too happy to assist you with, you'll come... no pun intended... along in leaps and bounds in no time.”

Glancing over his shoulder to give me a wry look, Will laughs and, with a quick squeeze of my hands, stands up. “No pun intended, huh?” he mutters, once again holding his hand out for me to take it.

“No pun intended,” I repeat, laughing as I both place my hand in his and let him help me up from the bed. “Seriously. And you can stop looking at me like that, too. I mean, if you don't want to take me up on my offer then...”

“You might have a way with words,” Will states, pulling me close and, laughingly, kissing the tip of my nose, “but, and I don't know if anyone has ever dared say this to you before, you also talk too much! Now... If I give you my word that I'll... practice... with you and you alone, will you shut up and come and get in the shower with me?”

“When you put it like that, how could I possible say no?” I retort as, tightening his grip on my hand, Will, suddenly looking as happy and as carefree as I've ever seen him, leads me into the en suite. 

“Oddly enough, that's what I thought you'd say.” Grinning, Will releases my hand and, stepping into the glass shower cubicle, turns on the water before, clearly being of the opinion that I need every hint that I can get, curling his finger in an open invitation to join him. “Come on, Ethan. Always having considered myself a quick learner, I think I'm ready for a bit more... practice...”

More...?

Shit.

While five seconds ago moving straight into Round Two would have just about been the furthest thing from my mind, now that the offer's on the table and I can already feel myself hardening at the thought of once again feeling Will's touch, just...

Bring it.

“And... again I have to say, when you put it like that,” I murmur, joining Will under the flow of warm water and, once I've slid the door closed behind me, pulling him close, “how could I possibly say no...”

“And... again...” Blinking water out of his eyes as he relaxes against me, Will flashes me a wicked grin and, without warning, closes his hand around my cock and applies just enough pressure to it that I can feel the sensation all the way down to my toes. “That's exactly what I thought you'd say.”

Having no difficulty in following his lead, I reach for his cock and, as he gasps his approval at my touch, murmur, “Only for you am I so predictable,” before capturing his mouth with mine and, as we fall effortlessly into the rhythm of kissing passionately and slowly jerking each other off, just giving myself over to the heat of the moment.

Slick, heated flesh pressing against slick, heated flesh, the friction between hard cocks being rubbed together and of moist lips pressed tight, the... knowledge that it's really happening, that the man sharing the moment with you isn't just there to offer a means to an end and is someone you genuinely care about and already can't imagine life without.

It's sex, of course it is, but at the same time it's much, much more.

When I close my eyes I know that it's Will in my arms, that it's his hands that are touching me so intimately.

And...

Somehow it's even better the second time around.

We reach climax in unison and, as our knees threaten to give way beneath us and we sway on our feet as we fight to keep our balance, we start to laugh before slumping into each other's arms and just embracing until the water begins to cool and we have to both get out of the shower and rejoin reality.

“While I don't want to be doing myself out of a job here,” I comment just a little on the breathless side as I hand Will a towel before grabbing one myself, “I think, at the rate you're going, that you're not really going to need all that much practice.”

“Complacency being the first sign of atrophy though, I'd still have to keep my freshly remembered skills up somehow,” Will murmurs with a casual shrug, “so, you may as well get used to the fact that, in terms of being my... practice buddy, you're it.”

“Get used to it?” Shaking my head, I tie the towel around my waist and, as Will does the same, reach out and lightly cup his jaw in the palm of my hand. “Count on it, more like. Just... This is it, Will. You and me. We've finally reached this point and...”

“Now we just have to make the most of it,” Will finishes, smiling as, turning his head, he kisses the palm of my hand. “I don't know about you though, but I really feel like calling it a night. So... Bed?”

“Lead the way.”

“Mmm... I've just got to go via my room in order to get a pair of pyjama pants to put on.”

“I don't know... Having seen it now, not to mention touched it, I can cope, you know, with sleeping next to it in all its naked glory.”

“Naked glory, huh?” Will echoes, laughing as we walk back into the bedroom together. “You sweet talker, you.”

“Well, I try.” Shrugging, I sit down on the edge of the mattress and smile hopefully. “Come on. If I give you my word not to molest you in your sleep, will you just get into bed with me?”

“It's not the threat of... molestation... from you that I need protecting from,” Will replies as, pausing in the doorway, he looks over at me and rolls his eyes, “it's Saha and her... penchant... for clambering in under the covers when you least expect it. Now, maybe you'll find me boring, but there are just some parts of my anatomy that I don't really want becoming acquainted with curious, investigatory claws...”

“Oh.” Just... Oh. As in... Of course that's why he'd have to wear pyjama pants to sleep in.

“Yeah. Oh.”

“Here's an idea for you... How about we just shut the door and keep her, and her claws, away from our anatomy?”

“Tried that,” Will mutters, shaking his head. “Not liking closed doors that she suspects someone is hiding behind, she sits outside them and... sings...”

“Sings?” And, yet again with being involved in a truly... surreal... moment in time that never, even if I had a particularly good imagination, could I have pictured myself taking part in. 

“Mmm... Sings. Yowls. Complains. Whines. Meows. Caterwauls. I don't actually know to describe it other than to say it's completely awful and that the only way to shut her up is to open the door and let her in.”

“So... If I don't want to be woken by either... singing... outside the door or an errant claw stuck where it has no right to be, it's pyjama pants all the way?”

“You can risk it if you like, but, yes, I'm going to put on pyjama pants.”

“Risk it?” Standing up, I go over to the chest of drawers and pull out a pair of boxers. “I'm not that addicted to danger, I'll have you know.”

“In that case, maybe there's hope for you yet,” Will replies, watching me as I drop the towel and pull on my boxers before, with a satisfied looking smile, disappearing from the room. 

“Hope for me? In this mad house?” I mumble to myself as, chuckling, I climb into bed and set about smoothing the bedding back into place. I've just finished and am settling myself back against the pillows when, safely clad in a pair of black cotton pyjama pants, Will comes to a silent, pensive looking stop in the doorway.

“Will? What's the matter?” I query, biting back a sigh as I pat the mattress next to me in the hope of him just shrugging off whatever it is that's going through his head this time and simply getting into bed with me. “Is everything okay?”

“I know you think that I only do what's expected of me and that I always put the needs of others in front of my own,” Will murmurs quietly as, leaning against the door-frame, he locks his gaze on mine. “I... I just want you to know that I... chose to stay here in your absence because I wanted to, and that... returning to field work... is... what I want. I've wanted it ever since you first asked me to join the team last year and, while I may not have been able to either make it happen or break free of Anthony without him... uh... taking matters into his own hands, now that it's actually within reach I want it more than ever. It's what I'm trained to do and... and I like to think that I'd be able to both play my part and make a difference. But...” Pausing, he gives me a look that's as sad as it is determined. “Ethan, I... While I'll understand if you have your doubts and don't want me on your team, I hope, in turn, that you'll understand when I say that, if that's the case, I'll just have to find another team to work with. It's not what I want, but...”

“Leaving me already? Charming. And here I was thinking we were on the brink of something special,” I interject in a deliberately light tone to mask the instant sense of horror Will's... threat... of joining another team just installed in me. I hear what he's saying though, I do, and what's more, I also fully understand it. He wants to return to field work not because of me or because it's what I wanted, but because it's what he actually wants and, more importantly, now can. 

“We are. That is... That's what I hope we are,” Will replies, sighing. “Ethan... I don't want to argue anymore than I want to ruin the evening, and... I'll let it drop if this truly isn't a conversation you want to have, but... I just want you to know, and to... believe... that I've thought about it in detail and reached the realisation that, yes, I really do want to give being out in the field another go. I may not be able to reach a decision as to what I want to do, be it renovate, demolish or just... sell as is, with my house, but wanting to return to the field... is... something I've decided on. Now, while I'd prefer that to be with you, Jane and Benji, I'm prepared to...”

“Okay,” I state, shrugging as, calmly cutting him off, I give the mattress another inviting pat.

“Okay?” Will repeats doubtfully. “Just... Okay? That's... all you've got to say on the subject?”

“I think I've already said all that I really have to say on the subject,” I respond, smiling over at Will in an attempt to put his mind at rest, “but, seeing as you apparently need to hear it again, here it is... All I want for you, Will, is what... you.. want. That's it. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. If you want to return to field work then that's not only fine by me, but of course I still want you on my team. I... want to be in your life, not... controlling it...”

“You're... really okay with me joining your team?” he queries, giving me a tentative smile. “Ethan? You're not just...”

“I'm... more... than okay with you joining my team,” I murmur, talking all over the top of him and, taking a leaf out of his book, holding my hand out towards him. “For what it's worth, what I'm also... more... than okay with is the thought of you just quitting while you're ahead and joining me in bed. So... Come on, Will. What happened to you wanting to call it a night?”

“I know, I know. Sorry. I... It's just that I felt that I had to get it out of the way.”

“And now it's out of the way, yeah?”

“That it is,” Will confirms as, turning the light off – but leaving the door open – he walks across the room and climbs into bed. “Now... Shhh... As glad as I am that you're home, let's get some sleep,” he adds in a whisper as, with a soft sigh of contentment, he immediately starts to go through the motions of making himself comfortable around me.

Sliding down the mattress in order to assist his manhandling of me, his – or so it would seem – human sized pillow, I wait until I'm convinced he's settled himself before hugging him back and kissing his cheek. “Good night, Will,” I whisper as, with perfect timing, the soft metal on metal sound of Saha's collar heralds her arrival in the room. “It... You have no idea how good it is to be home.”

~*~


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter six of six! (Yay, we've all reached the end...)
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading.

~*~

“You know,” Benji mutters as he steps back into the cabin and gives me the sort of look that tells me better than words ever could that I've not only somehow managed to disappoint him but that I've also betrayed his trust in me as well, “I hope you realise that I still think you're just lying to shut us up.”

“About what?” Throwing my iPad down on to the small table by my seat, I zip up my bag and place it in the overhead compartment before sitting down and giving Benji my full attention as he hovers, impatient and disbelieving, by the plane's door. “As I've already told you, I haven't just... commandeered the jet on a whim and was actually told by the Secretary himself to take it. So... Please. For God's sake stop looking at me like that. We're cleared to take the damn jet and no one's going to get into any trouble for it.”

“Not the jet,” Benji retorts, glancing back through the door and, as he's been doing ever since we boarded the jet fifteen minutes ago, scanning the airfield for signs of his... prey. “Will. I think you're lying about him finally joining the team and, any minute now, that arsehole, Miller, is going to hotfoot it across the tarmac, walk up these steps, and ruin my fucking day!”

“Anyone ever tell you that you have an over active imagination?” I murmur, glancing across at Jane as she sits flipping through a magazine in the seat closest to the door and rolling my eyes in a display of long sufferance. “Just, I don't know, Benji, and perhaps you can enlighten me here, why... would I be lying to you about Will joining us on the mission, huh?”

“Maybe because, on the rare occasions we've actually seen it, that is, you have a weird sense of humour?” Jane offers with a shrug as she closes her magazine and drops it down on to her lap. “Look. I'm not saying I'm as... paranoid... as Benji, but... Come on! Even you've got to admit that it's all just a bit unexpected and out of left field.”

“You're both doubting me now? That... That's just fucking lovely, it really is.” Pouting, I cross my arms over my chest in a show of petulance and shoot them both a wounded look. “I'm your team leader, you're meant to be able to trust me with your life, and, yet... here you both are thinking I'm bullshitting you about our new team member. I... I'm hurt, I really am.”

“Over acting, more like,” Jane counters, laughing as she shares a look with Benji. “Hey, we want it to be true, of course we do, but...”

“We're just not buying it,” Benji interjects. “I mean... It's wheels up in ten, yeah?”

Glancing down at my watch, I see that Benji's right and nod.

“So... If it really was Will who was going to be joining us, he'd be here already,” Benji retorts triumphantly as, narrowing his eyes, he silently gives me a moment to dare argue against his... irrefutable... use of logic. “Will's always on time,” he continues, “and, as he's not here yet, I take it to mean that you're lying to us for... uh... no other reason than you can!”

Shrugging, I hold my hands up in a gesture of surrender and, although I know all too well that I'm opening up a can or worms here that I'll probably only regret ever having mentioned, murmur, “The mission pretty much landing in our laps without warning, he had to get the cat to the...”

“Cat?” Her expression brightening, Jane smirks and, leaning forward in her seat, looks over at me – with an expression of childish glee – expectantly. “But... I thought the two of you had been living together... Uh! That is, I thought he'd been staying at your place for... uh... reasons that we're still waiting to have explained to us...”

“And unless Will feels like explaining it to you, you'll continue waiting, too,” I retort, laughing as Jane and Benji share a disappointed, possibly even slightly... put out... look. “But... If it helps, you're right. Will's been staying at my place while he decides just what exactly it is he's wanting to do, and...”

“And he's got himself a cat?” Jane prompts impatiently. “You... You're not seriously sitting there telling me that you're sharing your house with both Will... and a cat? Just... You? You'd have to be just about the least... domesticated... person I know.”

“You're lucky I've got a hide like a rhinoceros and aren't offended by this... both lying and un-domesticated... take you both seem to have on me,” I mutter with a haughty sniff. “To hopefully clarify things to your liking though, yes, Will has been staying in my house, and, yes, we have actually managed to successfully share it for the two entire days it's been since the three of us here got back from our last mission and, yes... While you can laugh all you like, he... that is, as I appear to be stuck with it too, we... we have a cat. Her name is Saha, she's black and white, and, seriously, you have my word that Will is going to be joining us once he's dropped her off at the cat-sitter.”

“Cat-sitter...” Snickering, I suspect, at hearing two words that he never expected to hear come out of my mouth, Benji catches Jane's eye and, clearly unable to help themselves, they both start to laugh. “Uh... Sorry, Ethan, but now I know you have to be bullshitting us.”

“Then, by all means, ask Will when he gets here.”

“Ask Will... what... exactly?” Will queries suspiciously as, having snuck up the steps while we were all caught up in my – hardly fascinating – tale of cat ownership, he walks into the jet and gives us all a cautious smile. “On second thoughts, do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” I murmur with a wink as, the doubt he'd felt in respect to my ability to tell the truth instantly up and leaving him at the sight of his friend, Benji grabs Will and hugs him enthusiastically.

“Will!” Benji exclaims as, looking increasingly bemused by the insanity he's inadvertently walked in to, Will gives him a quick hug back before extricating himself and sinking down in the seat next to mine. “It... Oh God! You... You're really here!”

“I am,” Will replies, giving me a fleeting – 'help me!' – look. “I may not be entirely sure what reality I've suddenly found myself in, but... You're right, Benji. I really am here.”

Beaming, Benji gives Will's shoulder a friendly slap and he flops down in the seat directly facing him. “We thought Ethan was just pulling our leg, that... you weren't really going to join us at all.”

“Pulling their leg, huh?” Will murmurs, giving me an amused, enquiring look. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I'm a... pathological liar who doesn't have a domesticated bone in my body,” I reply with an indifferent shrug. “Or, to put it another way, the other members of our team here didn't believe me when I said that you were joining us.”

“Or... that the pair of you just happen to now have a cat,” Jane interjects as, smiling, she shifts into the aisle seat and stretches out her hand to trail her fingers lightly along Will's knee. “Hey... It's about time you joined us on another one of these... threat to life and limb... expeditions.”

Grabbing Jane's hand in his, Will gives it a quick squeeze before releasing it with a smile. “Tell me about it,” he murmurs. “And... I'm sorry that it's taken me this long, but... uh... It's not that I haven't wanted to. In fact, I have, but...”

“It doesn't matter, you're here now,” Benji interjects, glancing dismissively at the pilot as he walks into the cabin and, after receiving a nod of consent from me, pulls the door shut in preparation for take off. “Now... The cat! Tell us more about the cat!”

 

~*~

Pulling the key card out of the lock, I gesture Will inside the hotel room and, as he takes the card from me and uses it turn on the lights, follow him through the door. A quick, habit more than anything else, glance around the room confirming that everything looks exactly the same as when we left it two hours ago for dinner in the hotel's restaurant, I nod to myself – again, for no real reason other than out of sheer habit – and pull the door shut. If not for the magnificent view of the River Thames from the window, the room would be just another motel room in the long, possibly even never ending list of motel rooms I get to spend far too much of my time in. Large enough to fit two double beds and a small table with two chairs in it comfortably, and with bland, brown on beige décor that's more likely to bore you that it is offend you, it's just... an overpriced room in an overrated hotel chain that just happens to be saved by its stunning location. I've been in – far – worse, and I've been in better.

The room, however, is of course greatly improved by having Will in it with me, but, still having some research to do and not wanting him to form the opinion that I have a one track mind and only want him around for his body, I decide to keep this particular snippet of information to myself for the time being and just get on with getting the... work-part... of the evening's activities out of the way. With this – the quicker I finalise the specifics of tomorrow's 'break and enter' then the quicker it is things can start to improve – in mind, I ensure that the door is firmly locked before walking across to the table and flipping open the screen of my laptop. Taking my suit jacket off, I drape it over the back of the chair before taking a seat and, as Will investigates whether the mini-bar meets his approval or not, entering my password into the computer. The immediately recognisable IMF logo has barely filled the screen before two crystal tumblers and a tiny bottle of Chivas Regal land on the table alongside the laptop and are quickly followed by Will taking a seat in the table's other chair.

“Remind me again why I thought this was a good idea,” he comments, immediately picking up the scotch bottle and twisting off the lid.

“Because it's what you're trained to do?” I offer, picking up my tumbler and watching as he splashes half of the bottle's contents – being a whole of one, maybe two, mouthfuls – into it. “Because... you want to work towards the greater good?”

“Not the mission,” Will replies, eyeing the bottle for a second or two before, with both a shrug and a muttered, “Cheers,” lifting it to his lips and downing the amber fluid in one mouthful. “Hell, the mission isn't bothering me in the slightest,” he continues as he leans back in his seat and loosens his tie before undoing the top three buttons of his white dress shirt. “No. It's the thousand-and-one questions Jane and Benji, who, incidentally, I swear are engaged in some sort of tag team effort in order to ensure they don't miss anything, keep hitting me with that's making me doubt my wisdom in having left the safe, peaceful, definitely peaceful, confines of HQ.” Pausing, he gives me a look from beneath an arched brow and shrugs. “Just... What more do they want to know, huh? I've explained about Saha, told them... all they need to know for the moment... about Anthony, confirmed that I'll decide what to do with my house once the builders have finished with the renovations, apologised for having accidentally been the cause of inflicting Miller, amongst others, on all of you, and yet... It's apparently still not enough! I... I just don't know what more they can want from me...”

“They're only doing it because they care,” I murmur with a sweet, possibly even – but only because he looks so endearingly exhausted from all the attention he's been getting – slightly button-pushing smile. “And, if it helps, I think you've been doing remarkably well keeping up with them and not just...”

“Running off and finding a place to hide?” Will finishes, dropping his gaze and shooting a very pointed, if not longing, look at my scotch. “Oh, trust me. If I hadn't thought it would have only resulted in them extending their questioning to wanting to know whether I suffered from any stomach complaints they needed to be aware of, I would have locked myself in the jet's bathroom in a heartbeat. Now... Are you going to drink that or would you like me to take it off your hands?”

“Seeing as I think it's fairly clear you need it more,” I reply, sliding the tumbler across the table, “here, it's all yours.”

“Thanks.” Picking up the glass, Will raises it in a silent toast and downs it in one gulp. “I'm not joking, you know. I just don't know what more they could possibly want from me. A month by month account of my entire life, perhaps? Look. I know they care, and I don't actually have any issues with them knowing this stuff, but how am I supposed to...”

Leaning forward, I cup Will's cheek in the palm of my hand and, as he pauses mid rant to draw breath, settle my lips on his for a quick kiss. Rendering him momentarily silent just as I hoped it would, I trail my fingers down the side of his face and, with a smile, settle myself back in my seat.

“Well... That's helpful,” he murmurs, returning my smile as I lick the faint taste of Chivas Regal from my lips. “Next time either of them ask me a question I need to... shut them up by kissing them. That's... inspired, it really is, and I see now where you get your reputation for thinking outside of the box from.”

“Smart ass.”

“Wait. I hadn't finished.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Seeing as at least one of us is trying to work here, that's... a pity.”

“Now who's a smart ass?”

“Fine. If it means leaving me in peace, please... By all means finish.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“Jane... I'm fairly certain it would work quite well on,” Will smirks as he stretches out his hand and lightly strokes his fingers along my wrist. “Benji, however... While I'm sure it would shut him up and push whatever his question had about to be out of his mind, I also think he'd freeze in some sort of epic, bunny-in-the-spotlight way and, okay, there's no denying that it wouldn't be funny, but... What if the damage proved to be permanent, huh?”

“I'd be more worried about him getting a taste for it,” I counter, both laughing at the sheer lunacy of our conversation and loving the twinkle of good humour in Will's eyes. While I don't doubt for a second that Benji and Jane's constant – and it really has been constant – questioning would have, especially as I already know that talking about himself is never going to make his top one hundred list of things he likes to do with his time, been getting to him, what I also suspect is that he's only been finding it more vaguely uncomfortable than completely annoying. Will, and again I already know this for fact, is a very private person who doesn't like feeling as though he's the centre of attention. What he also is though is polite, kind hearted, a good friend to have, and, while it might be hard for him to admit, he doesn't like to be on his own and would far prefer to have people – not many, and only those he feels he can trust, granted – around him. Their attention and questioning would have been outside of his comfort zone, but at the same time it would have confirmed both his decision to rejoin the team and, hopefully, the feeling that this – being back in the field and in this team – is where he truly belongs.

“A taste for it?” he murmurs, picking my hand up in his and squeezing it. “Don't tell me that's your way of saying I'm a good kisser...”

“If the cap fits and all that...” Turning my hand over in his, I entwine our fingers together. “Hey... I'm just saying that if you decide to get in to the habit of trying to shut Benji up with a kiss, either you'll get very tired, very quickly, or he'll get a taste for it...”

“So...” Affecting an innocent expression, Will flicks just the tip of his tongue between his lips. “I am a good kisser, then.”

“If your ego needs massaging that badly, yes, you are a very good kisser,” I confirm as, for quite literally no other reason than I know that I have to if I'm going to get to go over tomorrow's plan any time tonight, I pull my hand away from Will's and tap my finger against the laptop. “What you also are, however, is an incredibly good distraction!”

“Oh!” His eyes widening as he no doubt jumps to the immediate conclusion that he's only been wasting my time, Will shakes his head apologetically and stands up. “Shit. I'm sorry, Ethan. You should have said something earlier about wanting to work instead of just letting me babble on. If I'd known... Fuck! If I'd used my brains and actually thought for a second instead of just...”

“Don't forget that it takes two to tango and all that, not to mention I think you'll have to agree that I was giving as good as I was getting,” I reply with both a reassuring smile and an unbothered shrug. “Besides, the only reason I even drew it to your attention was because, thinking of quite a few things I'd far prefer be doing with my evening, I just want to get it out of the way and be done with it.”

Still looking far from either happy at his perceived lapse of reason or even particularly convinced that I'm not just telling... blatant lies... to placate him, Will frowns and takes a step back from the table. “I'm still sorry,” he murmurs. “I should have known better and really am sorry for just having been wasting your time. I... Clearly it's been too long since...”

“You felt comfortable enough to let your guard down and just have fun,” I offer, increasing the wattage of my smile in the hope of getting it through to Will that, honestly, I couldn't be less bothered if I actually tried.

“I was going to say... out in the field,” he responds with a wan smile of his own, “but... Yeah. That too. I was... babbling... simply because I could and because...”

“It felt good,” I interject. “Just... Don't worry about it. It felt good because it... was... good. That, and the reason I was playing along was because it felt good to me too.”

“You still should have cut me off and told me that you wanted to get some work done,” Will mutters. “But... While I thank you for letting me rant about the never-ending number of questions I've been subjected to today, perhaps it might be for the best if I just go and have a shower in order to leave you in peace.” Pausing, he glances at the laptop and frowns. “Shit! What I should have said was... Is there anything I can do to help? I assumed that you were just wanting to finalise the details for tomorrow, but...”

“You're right. I just want to go over tomorrow's plans one last time before calling it quits and giving you and your incessant babble my full, undivided attention.” Grinning, I lift my arm and gesture at the bathroom. “Go and have your shower. I give you my word that I'm fine here and that... the sooner I get on to it, the quicker I get it done.”

“If you're sure...”

“I'm sure.”

“If you'd like I could...”

“Again, I just want to get this boring work component out of the way before...” Trailing off, I leer at Will and slowly look him up and down. “Really... giving you my undivided attention.”

“Ha!” Giving me a knowing, 'I'm on to you' look, Will walks over to his bag and, after digging through it for a few seconds, pulls out his pyjama pants and a t-shirt. “That's really the only reason I'm here, isn't it?”

“Well, that... and to give Benji and Jane someone else to play with.”

“So... I'm here to... relieve your tension... and, or so I'm assuming anyway, to give you a break from Benji and Jane?”

“Now you're getting it.”

“Keep up the... hilarity, and, I'm telling you now, you... won't... be getting it,” Will retorts, smirking as he detours past me to ruffle my hair before walking over to the bathroom. “I...” Coming to a stop in the doorway, he turns around and flashes me a truly gorgeous smile. “All the questions and my momentary lapse in reason in harassing you when you wanted to work aside, I'm genuinely glad to be here. With you, with the others, as part of the team, and... back in the field again. I just want you to know that it really does mean a lot to me and that I'm grateful for, well, everything. For your friendship, refusal to give up on me, patience and... for just making me want to both live and smile again...”

His piece said, Will slips into the bathroom and, without giving me time to reply, quickly pulls the door shut behind him. More relieved, because I don't know how I could possibly reply without seeming rude by accidentally dismissing his gratitude as unwarranted, by his sudden disappearing act than I am put out by it, I swivel back around in my seat, bring up the information relating to our mission on the laptop, and – because I know that if I don't I'll only give in to considerable temptation and simply go and join Will in the shower – swiftly lose myself in the intel.

Having gone over it in detail both back at HQ this morning when the mission was first handed to me and then again during the flight from D.C. to London, it doesn't take me long to accept that the plan I'd initially settled on is the one that still strikes me as the best way to go and, not wanting to fall prey to doubt or second guess myself, I've already moved on to checking my email by the time Will returns to the room. Not wanting to make him think that I've rushed through what I needed to do on his account, I pay him scant attention as he walks across the room and places his dirty clothes in a plastic bag before, all the time carefully paying me as little attention as I'm paying him, going over to stand by the window and gazing out at the Thames.

At the risk of stating the obvious, I'm glad that Will's finally a part of the team and can hardly believe how effortlessly things have recently fallen into place. Do I wish that Anthony hadn't... done what he did? Of course I do. While I didn't know the man, and don't for a second actually hold him personally responsible for the choices Will made, he certainly didn't, for the wont of a better way of putting it, deserve the ending that he chose for himself. Would Will have broken free on his own accord if Anthony hadn't killed himself though? I think he would have, in fact I'm sure of it, but it would have taken time. Possibly even a lot of time. Time that, really, in the world we live in and doing the job we do, we just might not have had. Again, of course I wish that Anthony was still amongst the living, but... At the same time I know I have him to thank for being the catalyst that cemented us firmly on the path we're on now. 

Anthony's unfortunate suicide shook Will, but what it also did was get him moving and I honestly believe he's the one solely responsible for all of the choices he's made since. He... chose... to come to my house that night, just as he chose to both confide in me and to... let me... into his life. He also, even if it was only because his strong logical streak couldn't refute the sense it made, reached the decision to stay in my house all on his own and I think, especially given that I put more effort into impressing on him that he didn't have to rush into it, that the team would – hopefully – always be there, it's fair to say that the reason he's here now is because it's what he wants. The mission landed on my lap this morning, Will indicated that he was up for it, the Secretary cleared him of his case load, and... Here he is.

I spent twelve months courting, if that's what you can call chipping away at his defences and not ever fully taking no for an answer, Will, and it wouldn't surprise me if Luther were to coach it in terms of either being careful what I wished for or... having made my bed I now have to lie in it, but, seriously, I wouldn't have things any other way. At first I kept niggling away at Will because I was so firmly of the opinion that he'd be a good fit for the team and... that's where I wanted him, out of HQ and on my team. Then, as I couldn't work out what it was he was so clearly hiding from everyone, I simply wanted to know what his big secret was. William Brandt was, regardless of how I tried to look at it, a challenge. I wanted him on my team and I wanted, if for no real reason other than I needed my curiosity put to rest, to know him.

Then, as he continued to both refuse my requests to return to the field and – despite the time he seemed to freely give me – keep me at a very extended arm's length, my sense of frustration changed again and the reason I wanted Will in my life was simply because I liked him. He wouldn't give me what I wanted, and his obsessive secrecy bugged the hell out of me, but... I just liked him. After a few months he always seemed, even if he did a good job of hiding it, pleased to see me and, in turn, I found that I was always pleased to see him too. We got on well together and, ignoring the time I devoted to thinking about him as the months went on, clearly I somehow managed to make enough of an impact on him to be the first – if not only – person he thought of to turn to after Anthony's death.

We just kept circling each other until something had to give and, once it did, we were able to quickly move forward to the contented point we're at now. It, be it either being on the team or our relationship, may not work and the honeymoon period we appear to be in at that moment may come to a crashing end when we least expect it. On the other hand though, there's just as much of a chance that it will work, that the time we've taken to get here will, in the long run, make all the difference between a – mistake – fling and something both far more special and lasting. It took time to get here and, now that we're here, it's both very good, very promising, and definitely worth fighting for.

And, best of all, Will's here because he wants to be.

Will, who's standing by the window and who, to hell with feigning anything to the contrary, I simply want to be with. I'm not even talking in a sexual sense either as I just want to... be with him. To simply give him my full attention and, as this could well be the calm before the storm given what we're about to embark on tomorrow, make the most of the moment. And, really, that's just all there is to it.

Shutting down my email account, I close the lid of the laptop and, as I lean back in my seat, comment, “Plan A still strikes me as the way to go.”

“Of course it does,” Will replies with the smallest of shrugs as he continues to gaze down at the Thames.

“Of course it does?” I repeat, making no attempt to hide the hint of amusement in my voice at his matter-of-fact, possibly even barely interested response.

“Mmm... It's the one I would have recommended myself.”

“Oh. It is, is it?”

“Although it was so brief that you may have missed it, there was a lull in all of the questioning during the flight and, having used it to familiarise myself with the data, it's the exact same plan I came up with myself.”

“So... Great minds think alike, huh?”

“Ethan, I...” Sighing, Will slowly turns around and gives me an unreadable look. “In this case, yeah, I agree one-hundred percent with the plan you've come up with to get us in tomorrow,” he murmurs with a half frown as he leans his back against the glass of the window. “If, however, I didn't agree or saw what I thought to be a flaw in it somewhere, I... I'd speak up, okay. I wouldn't just keep my mouth shut and, I'm telling you now, if the need ever arises I won't have any qualms in arguing with you.” Pausing, he sighs again and flashes me a sheepish looking smile. “Sorry. That, to you anyway, probably sounds as though it came out of nowhere. It's just... I want this. That is, I want both you and to be a part of the team, but... What I also want is for it to be done properly. I don't want to be the team mascot or... helper, and I don't want to be seen as though I'm simply tagging along solely because that's what you've decided you want. I want to be able to play my part to the best of my ability and... if that means either disagreeing or arguing with you, then... So be it.”

“And I wouldn't have it any other way,” I state adamantly as, catching Will's gaze with my own, I smile and stand up. “Look, Will. If it helps put your mind at rest, you're, before anything else, an IMF agent who's out in the field for no other reason than he's expected to do both his job and whatever it is that's asked of him. If you think I'm wrong about something or want to suggest another way of doing things then you're... obliged... to speak up and, again, I wouldn't have it any other way. You're as brilliant an agent as you are an analyst and you've got to believe me when I say that you'd be an asset to any team.” Pushing my chair in under the table, I walk over to Will and lightly place my hand on shoulder. “We just happened to recognise this and call dibs on your services first,” I add, shrugging. “That, and I can't deny that I'm just all for having you around personally.”

“Even though there's a good chance I'll argue with you at some point?” Will replies with a soft smile. “Or... Worse. Launch into some sort of completely random, not to mention... defensive... rant that you never saw coming?”

“As it'll still be worth it, I'm more than prepared to take the good with the bad,” I reply, stroking the back of my hand along the curve of Will's smooth cheek. “Just... Cheer up, William. You're here because you're a valued member of the team and, having a pretty thick skin, I doubt there's anything you can ever say to me that will make me change my mind. So... Feel free to babble, argue, indulge in complete randomness, or rant at me all you want. I'm a big boy and I can take it.”

Leaning momentarily into my touch, Will murmurs, “Then I suppose I'd better do what I can to prove your faith in me,” before linking his elbow through mine and turning back around to face the window. “Speaking of random,” he continues once, not that I really had much choice in the matter given his grip on my elbow, I've shifted to stand alongside of him and we're both looking out at the Thames. “Anthony loved London and during his better moments always spoke about wanting one day to submit his portfolio to the Royal College of Art. They used to spend every second Christmas in London because their mother was English and she still had family over here and, I think, the memories must have stuck with Anthony because, if there was one place he'd always be happy to talk about it was here.”

Quickly deciding that there's no need to state the obvious in that Anthony's love of London would clearly be the reason behind all the red phone booths and red double decker buses he'd – obsessively – scrawled all over Will's walls, I simply tighten my elbow around his and wait for him to go on. 

“He was good enough too, you know, and if he'd ever gotten around to submitting his portfolio to the college I'm sure he wouldn't have had any trouble in being accepted,” Will adds after a few minutes of silence as, tracking a brightly lit tourist boat as it glides along the reference in preference to looking at me, he leans against my side and sighs. “There was even one time when, thanks to the meds working well enough for him to have gained enough insight in them to accept that he needed to keep taking them, he worked really hard for close to a month and got his portfolio up to the point of being ready to submit. Wanting to give him a goal to continue striving for, I promised that I'd pay for his trip to London so that he could hand it over to the college himself, and I thought, I really did, that this time he was definitely going to make it, that... he was finally back on the right track. Only...” 

Sighing again, Will lowers his gaze and, pulling his elbow free of mine, loosely wraps his arms around his torso. “I'm sure you can guess what came next though,” he whispers. “One of his so-called friends arrived with the promise of a free high and, just like that, all the hard work he'd been putting in went up, literally, in a puff of smoke. The illicit drugs once again took over from the prescribed ones, he tore up his portfolio while coming down one day, and... with the benefit of hindsight... I can see now that it was the beginning of the end, that he never really... came back from that point. Sometimes, although I know it's pointless and what's done is done, I wish that I'd just bitten the bullet and stuck him on a flight to London earlier. Money not being an issue, I could have set him up in a flat and he could have finished his portfolio in the city he loved and hoped to make his home instead of...” Falling silent, he sneaks a glance at me and gives a weary shrug. “Logic, before you feel compelled to bring it to my attention, tells me that, left to his own devices in London he could have just as easily fallen into the wrong crowd and returned to the drugs another way, but... I don't know. At least I would have tried and, who knows, maybe doing what he wanted to do might have been enough to save him.”

“I'm sure you did everything you could for him,” I reply, draping my arm around Will's slumped shoulders and pulling him against my side. “In fact, I suspect you did more for him than you'll ever truly be aware of. You... You stood by him, Will, and you gave him a home and tried to look after him when many would have just washed their hands of him. I know that it doesn't help, just as nothing can change what happened, but you tried, and... No one could ever ask more of you than that.”

“Just as a part of me will always wonder what I could have done differently, and... if it would have even made any difference,” Will responds as he relaxes against me and rests his head on my shoulder. “Anthony, I... I know that I took him on solely under a sense of obligation and that, yes, he effectively put my own life on hold for nearly two years. He... drained me and, again, there will always be a part of me that feels that, somehow, possibly because I didn't try hard enough or I was too weak or.... whatever, that I failed him.”

“Will...”

“Please. Just let me finish. He took over my life and, ultimately, everything I did proved to be not enough, but... I don't regret it. I don't regret the time I devoted to him, and I don't regret having tried. He'll never know it now, but he was worth it and, even without the benefit of hindsight, I wouldn't hesitate to do it all over again if that's what I felt I needed to do.”

Accepting that, really, there isn't anything I need to say by way of reply, I tighten my arm around Will's shoulder and kiss the top of his head. As he just said, he did what he felt he had to. He tried to help his friend's brother and, regardless of the strain it put on his own life, he'd do it again. And, essentially, there's not anything more that needs to be said about it.

“I know that if it wasn't for Anthony I could have joined the team a year ago,” Will continues, tilting his head back to look up at me as he slides his arm around my waist. “What I also know, however, is that... notwithstanding the actual path it eventually took... it's highly unlikely that we'd be in the place we are now if I had joined when you first wanted me to. You... would have gotten what you'd decided you wanted and, while, okay I still think team and mission wise it probably would have worked, you... Uh... I think I would have quickly become... part of your furniture, so to speak, and you would have just lost interest in me. We'd have been friends, yeah, but nothing more, and I... I like this better.”

Gently kissing Will's forehead, I shift in front him so that my back's facing the window and quickly draw him to me for a hug. “Oddly enough, I like this point we seem to have found ourselves at quite a bit myself,” I murmur as, settling against me with a sigh of contentment, Will hugs me back. “And, what's more, I think you're right in that if you... had... joined back when I first wanted you to and I'd gotten my way without having to do anything other than simply ask, I would have... lost interest.” It's probably a peculiar sort of thing to say, to be all but confessing that I'm unlikely to be interested in something if I don't have to work for it, but not only was Will the one to first mention it, it's also true. If Will had joined straight away he would have just been... there... and it's doubtful that I would have felt any sort of urge to get to know him. So... He's right, and I think that in itself proves he already knows me pretty damn well. “As I found you to be a challenge though and I had to work to get you to allow me into your life,” I add, “we were able to spend the time that followed slowly getting to know each other, and, you're right. It was... time... that got us to where we are now. Time and... Anthony. Just... Think about it and take comfort from knowing that if it wasn't for the part Anthony inadvertently played...”

“We wouldn't be standing here, like this, now,” Will finishes with a warm smile. “I... You know, Ethan, I like the way you think. Instead of dwelling on the negatives I just need to remember the... positive... impact Anthony was able to have on my life and it will make the memories I have of him better ones.” Pausing, he rests his forehead against mine for a couple of seconds before planting a kiss on my cheek. “Just... Again. Thank you for not giving up on me, for... being there for me, and... for just being here now. I... I know that I'm lucky to have you.”

“If luck really does have anything to do with it, I think you'll find that we're both as... lucky... as each other,” I reply with a smile as, releasing Will from my embrace, I take his hand in mine and begin to lead him over to the bed. “Now... What do you say, enough of this... deep and meaningful stuff and, as Plan A requires an unfortunately early start, how about we just call it a night?”

A gleam of interest immediately lighting up Will's eyes as he reads between the lines of my... offer, he gives my hand a quick squeeze before letting it go and, with a grin, reaching for my belt. “Again, I really... do... like the way you think...”

~ end ~


End file.
